


exile

by adorn1ng (aswellingstorm)



Series: evermore [1]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Catra (She-Ra) Leaves the Horde, Catra (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Catra (She-Ra) Redemption, Catra Needs Therapy (She-Ra), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre Season 3, and who is waiting there for other than king micah, basically Catra gets sent to Beast Island
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 116,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27860290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aswellingstorm/pseuds/adorn1ng
Summary: Catra gets sent to Beast Island but quickly finds she isn't alone. Meanwhile, Adora can't help but feel like something is wrong.or;After being sentenced to exile, Catra realizes that her life might not be over just yet. There's plenty of family to be found and maybe even some time to change.Set post-season 2.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Series: evermore [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177913
Comments: 411
Kudos: 796





	1. homeland

Time had stopped long ago for Micah. But this was not for lack of trying.

After being exiled to Beast Island, the cold, indifferent stare that Light Spin—no, _Shadow Weaver_ had given him as he was dragged to the skiff by Horde soldiers burned in the back of his mind. She had looked like she almost wanted to laugh at his misery—her former ward, all grown up and stripped of everything; his power, his wife, his family.

The way she muttered, “ _Farewell, Micah.”_ only loud enough for him to hear was less of a goodbye and more of a taunt. A scornful message, one that told him he could’ve avoided his fate if he had just listened to her. If he hadn’t failed her.

But he didn’t fail her. She manipulated him. He was only just a _child_ , and she exploited him for her selfish gain. Micah was well-practiced at reminding himself of these truths.

More potently, he was aware of the fact that any love she had shown him was not real. It was disingenuous, unfair and underhanded. He may have been her star pupil, but above all else he was her puppet. Shadow Weaver wanted power and, as the most promising sorcerer in training, Micah could help her get that power.

So she used him. She praised him, set him above his peers and even had partaken in a few of his good-natured pranks. All under the guise of tricking him into thinking she cared about him, to get him to view her as some sort of parental figure.

And while he could always count on Castaspella to be by his side, it was Angella who had showed him what real, unselfish love looked like. She loved him completely and freely; didn’t parse out her affection based on whether or not he had met some unspoken standard.

And it was Glimmer who taught him the depths of how badly Shadow Weaver had hurt him. When she was born—when his baby girl was brought into this world, he knew there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her. His love and care for Glimmer was unconditional—so much so that he would often reflect on the way there wasn’t _anything_ she could do that would make him love her any less.

He could never imagine hurting her or starving her of that love. And in those moments where he realized how full of love his life became—that is where the pain Shadow Weaver had caused him became elucidated. He could never imagine treating anyone else the way she had treated him—always competing for a morsel of her approval.

Which is why, upon arriving to Beast Island, Micah had resolved to do all he could to get back to his family. The one he worked so hard to create, the one he loved with all his heart, the one that had healed him in ways he didn’t know he was broken.

He kept tally of the days with a sharped stone on one of the boulders by the shore. He learned the secrets of the Island—which fruits were ripe for eating, and which should be avoided.

Chippits were less than desirable for meals; but they had more protein that scruffers or razor fins. Pookas traveled in packs and could easily be discerned by a faint, blue light that emitted from the exterior of their shell. He could avoid detection if he was quick enough to dodge out of their frame of view, or if he laid so still that they couldn’t detect his breathing. And the snake monster that lived in the center of the island had rarely ever traveled far enough outward to be any sort of threat.

He even had some success in building up a resistance to the signal that emitted from the center of the island. The key, he had learned, was to expose himself to the signal for small increments daily to increase the threshold of time he would be able to hear the signal before it could start to impact him.

He knew that the center of the island held a great amount of First One’s tech, potentially enough of it could be salvaged into something that could get him off of the island. Or let him send a message to Bright Moon.

After months of experimenting with the scrap that laid on the coast of the island, he became more daring—a bit more reckless and desperate in his attempts to build anything that could get him off of the island. And after months bled into more months and boulders had been lined with tally marks, the long term effects of the island had sunk their claws into him.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if he accidentally spent too long in one of the signal exposure sessions. Because self-doubt had entered his mind—he wondered if he ever _could_ he off the island. Did he deserve to, at this point? He was failing his family every day he failed to get off the island.

And he survived the days; but he didn’t pay attention to the light anymore. He didn’t venture too far into the center of the island. Pookas had left him alone for the most part.

Life—past, present and future, it all seemed to blend together. Had it been a year since his exile began? When was the last time he had seen Angella—the pained look on her face when they were separated on the battlefield? And how old was Glimmer now? Would she even recognize him?

These fears grew heavier on Micah’s mind, threatening to consume him.

Until one day when a young girl with blue and green heterochromatic eyes was unceremoniously tossed off of a Horde ship, arms bound and left face down in the sand.

Time began again.

* * *

Something is wrong. Something is very, _very_ wrong. Adora knows this and she knows this gut intuition has nothing to do with the fact that Shadow Weaver is now being held a prisoner on Bright Moon’s grounds.

Initially, Adora she may have thought it was because she’d awoken to Shadow Weaver lurking over her. Then she was certain it was because Shadow Weaver was dying and Adora was the only one who could help her. Next, she convinced herself it was because she’d just learned of her identity as a First One.

She was certain this sense of discontentment, a slow but steady thrum of anxiety under her skin, would abate once she received Mara’s message from the Crimson Waste and learned more about her origins. And for a second the feeling of impending catastrophe actually had lessened.

It was replaced by elation when, with the help of Huntara, they were able to locate and recover Mara’s ship. They even fought off the Horde to do so—and that’s exactly the when the feeling of doom returned.

A sense of pride for being able to fight off the Horde is quickly replaced by panic. When they board the ship, just before she slips out of She-Ra and back into herself, she twists around in worry. She scans the ship, the area outside of the ship—looks at the retreating form of the Horde.

Something is wrong. She’s certain of it.

Because that was too easy—the Horde had barely put up any sort of a real fight. The cadets leading the frontline looked like they had no idea what they were doing and Force Captain Octavia looked equally as distraught.

Adora thinks this has to be some sort of a trap—that Catra has to be waiting somewhere in the wings for Adora to let her guard down long enough before she attacks. So she remains hypervigilant, waiting on bated breath for her former best friend to appear, even after they get the ship up and running and headed back to Bright Moon.

“Come on!” Glimmer cheers, “We did it! We got Mara’s ship, we beat the Horde—you should be happy!”

“Yeah!” Bow joins in, throwing an arm over Adora’s shoulder, “This calls for a celebration!”

“But,” Adora sighs, “Don't you think it was…weird? I mean—we just... _did_ it. And of all the people to send to the Crimson Waste for First One’s tech—why did Hordak send Octavia? I mean, she’s not even _that good_ of a Force Captain—”

“Um, probably because everyone knows how dangerous the Crimson Waste is and he didn’t want to send his second command out to die?” Bow ventures.

“Yeah, but—” Something about it still doesn’t make sense. She can’t quite put her finger on it, can’t verbalize it. Her shoulders deflate when she sees the worried looks on her best friends faces. Not wanting them to worry, she puts on her most convincing smile, “No, yeah. You’re right. Let’s celebrate!”

Bow, Glimmer, Perfuma and Huntara all cheer and start talking about what they’ll do when the ship arrives in Bright Moon, but Adora hangs back for a second. She looks out the window one final time, down at the Horde tanks below.

Eyes narrowed, she scans the crowd of familiar uniforms. There’s no sign of Catra—or Scorpia for that matter.

And that should be a good thing. Adora knows she should be relieved that they’ve won this small battle without having to see Catra on the other end of her blade, mocking words and spiteful eyes.

But not seeing Catra is almost worse. It means her presence can’t be accounted for. And they— _Adora_ has no idea what she’s up to.

Her fear is validated when they return to Bright Moon and are greeted with a cautious, reserved stare from Queen Angella. Scanning around the courtyard, Adora can see the rest of the Princess Alliance is there as well. She furrows her brows, recalling that they didn’t have a meeting planned for at least another day or so.

The other Princesses eye her wearily, like they know something she doesn’t. Even Mermista seems a bit weary.

After Glimmer is finished excitedly recounting their wins to Angella, the Queen turns to her and says, “Adora, it seems as though you have another guest.”

“What?” Adora breathes, anxiety increasing, “What does that mean? Who is it? Is that why everyone is here?”

“They have an… _unusual_ request. It requires the vote of the entire Alliance,” Angella explains calmly, eyes trailing to the doorway leading into the castle.

Swallowing thickly, Adora follows her gaze to find Scorpia looking at her sheepishly, and her stomach sinks. This can only be about one thing—one person.

_Catra._

* * *

Catra, Micah learns very quickly, is not incredibly amiable. As a matter of fact, their first encounter ended with Micah defending himself by summoning light magic to hold her in a neutral position long enough to explain the dangers of the Island.

He realized his first mistake was touching her. He just wanted to prove to himself that she was real—that there was another person on this Island with him, after all this time. But it had quickly sent her into a panic, claws lashing out at him as her other hand protectively circled around her neck.

Even with a forcefield holding her in place, the girl still struggled and glared at him. She flat out told him she didn’t care about pookas or chippits. Or him, for that matter.

“You said you’re from Bright Moon, right?” She hissed at him, “Well I’m from the Horde. And that means we aren’t friends. Got it? So don’t pretend like we are.”

His eyes softened when he shook his head in disagreement, “Rebellion. Horde. Those things don’t matter here. Besides, they’ve sent you here to die. I trust you’re not still fighting for them.”

“You don’t know me,” was her immediate response, but he saw the way her claws dug into the sand underneath her.

There is something about her—so young, so clearly damaged, that pulls at his heart strings. He can see bruises along her collarbone and throat. He knows she took off whatever Horde badge she had on her belt as soon as she freed herself from their binds.

He knows that the Horde raises child soldiers. He can’t imagine what it’s like to grow up in such a cold, careless environment.

So he decides to level with her.

“You’re right,” he says, squatting down from where the shield he’s drawn has her sitting on the sand. “I don’t know you. But I don’t want to hurt you. You and I—we’re both stuck here. We can help each other. Maybe we can even get off this Island.”

“What makes you think I want to get off the island?” She narrows her eyes at him. “You said it yourself—the Horde sent me here to die. There’s nothing waiting for me back there. I don’t care what happens to me here.”

Her words hit like a block of ice, shocking him enough to held the shield down and the binds around her hands dissipate.

“Just—stay out of my way. And I’ll stay out of yours.” She says, before turning her gaze to the cliffside machinery on the outskirts of the island. With a parting glance, she makes her way away from him, night just beginning to fall.

He doesn't miss the limp in her step as she walks away, no matter how hard she tries to disguise it.

Still, he lets her go. The kid is one hell of a fighter, he realizes as he appraises the scratches she’d left on his arm. Maybe he should worry for the Pookas instead of her.

There’s something that flares up inside of him—something he hasn’t felt since he was on that battlefield…however long ago that might be. He held Glimmer and Angella and all of Bright Moon and Etheria in his heart when he fought that day. He hasn’t had anything worth protecting since then.

Maybe, he realizes, it’s his destiny to grow old and live out the rest of his days here. Maybe he isn’t strong enough to get off the Island. But this kid— _Catra_ , he remembers, she’s far too young to resign herself to this fate. Horde solider or not.

Micah respects her space. He can feel her anger, her hurt. It radiates off of her like grief and while he can’t begin to fathom all that she has to mourn, he knows earning her trust will be a slow going process.

Their paths cross again a few days later when Catra is scavenging the side of one of the island lakes.

She’s had a migraine ever since she was tossed on this crapfest of an island and it’s become so painful that her vision fades in and out of spottiness.

The pain in her head is magnified by some high-pitched white noise that she can’t seem to place. And it’s this noise, she realizes, that must be impacting her hearing now too.

Which is why it’s easy for her to become so engulfed in using her sharpened claws to catch fish that she doesn’t hear a lone pooka approach her from behind.

And it isn’t until the monster has her pinned against the bank of the lake, one razor-sharp arm poised to strike, that she realizes she might be in trouble. Her body is weakened and she can admit she’s lost some of her usual vigor when it comes to fighting.

She just wanted to be left alone, but her half-hearted attempts to defend herself weren’t amounting to much. When she heard the creature growl above her in something like a proclamation of victory, all she did was take a deep breath and let her eyes fall shut.

 _Is it really over?_ She wonders to herself, a heaviness in her heart when she realizes the thought doesn’t ignite any type of fight or resistance within her.

But the moment— _the_ moment never comes. Catra feels a _whoosh_ of air and when she opens her eyes—she sees the pooka tipped over into its side. Purple magic cackles and sparkles around it before it goes limp.

Confused, Catra makes a move to stand up but finds there’s a hand already extended towards her.

“You alright?” Micah asks and the concern in his eyes makes Catra feel uncomfortable. Like she’s underneath a microscope and he’s just waiting for her to take a misstep.

If there’s one thing she’s still certain of, it’s that acts of kindness are nothing more than urban legends. Everything has a catch and everyone has an ulterior motive.

So she doesn’t accept his hand. Instead, she musters her remaining agility to leap to her feet and take a step back from him.

“Why did you do that?” She asks, chest heaving. She feels winded, adrenaline coursing through her but it doesn’t leave her breathless. Nothing leaves her breathless. She could run a hundred drills or take a thousand laps around the perimeter of the Fright Zone and she still wouldn’t be breathless.

Not after Hordak showed her what exactly _breathless_ felt like. Nothing else could compare.

Thinking about Hordak and the oxygen deprivation chamber has her heart racing. A feeling of doom starts to swell within her, even though she very narrowly avoided death just moments ago.

She doesn’t even realize Micah was speaking to her, answering her question most likely, until he slowly waves his hand in front of her face. Calmly, calculated. Like he’s trying not to scare her off.

“You with me, kid?” He asks, voice low and gentle.

She isn’t sure anyone has ever used such a soft tone with her. Her traitorous brain conjures a counterargument, a vision of a blonde girl with a toothy grin who would sneak into her bunk late at night and exchange whispers about their fellow bunkmates.

Catra shakes her head, more to rid herself of the thought than to give him an actual response. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” He asks, eyebrow quirking before he fills in the blanks, “You just expected me to let you die?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” She asks, eyes narrowing. There’s a long pause between them and she nearly regrets the hostility in her tone. Because this guy— _Micah_ seems like he’s actually nice.

She hates that. She hates people who just expect her to accept the fact that they’re _what_? Genuinely good people? The thought makes her want to laugh.

Instead she closes the silence by shaking her head and saying, “Besides, I was fine.”

“Fine?” He repeats, flabbergasted, “If that was your fine, then I’d hate to see what bad looks like to you.”

Her lips pull into a half-smile at that. Whether it’s embittered or she genuinely found humor in his response, he isn’t sure.

“I’m just…off my game. That’s all,” She defends, not looking at him, “I’ve had…this migraine ever since I got here.”

“A migraine? Have you been going deeper into the forests of the island?” He frowns.

“No! Obviously not,” She rolls her eyes, “Not after hearing you drone on about how dangerous that stupid signal is for hours.”

“It was maybe thirty seconds before you twisted my arm backwards and tried to bite me,” He counters, recalling the events from their initial meeting.

Micah lets Catra laugh at that before continuing, “You shouldn’t be able to pick up the signal from all the way out here.”

In response, she wordlessly points to her ears in a silent expression that reads ‘ _duh’_.

“That’s right, Magicats have incredibly enhanced abilities. Known very well for their agility and ability to detect any sort of danger,” He says, before turning his head to the side in mock-thought and missing the way her ears twitch at the mention of her species. “Unless, of course, you happen to be a pooka. In which case, all enhanced abilities are thrown to the wind—”

“Hey!” She cuts off his jest by elbowing him and this time he can tell that the smile on her face is nothing if not real. Her laughter is high and a bit devious—he can’t help but laugh too.

But then, like she’s caught herself doing something wrong, Micah watches her quickly scold her face back to neutrality. She steps away from him and the moment of amiability has clearly passed.

Micah sighs as he watches the carefully constructed walls go back up, but doesn’t push. He’s about to walk away when she calls after him and approaches with her hand extended, fist closed around something he can’t see.

He opens his hand out to her curiously, unable to contain his surprise when she releases a… _dead fish_ into his hand. Still dripping with water, too.

He looks up at her confused and praying his face doesn’t look put-off, but her eyes are downcast. “Bugs are disgusting.” She says in way of explanation.

Then it clicks.

In all of this time on the island, he never even thought to try catching the fish in the lakes. Catra had been on the island for only a few days and had it down to a near perfect science.

And here she is, offering to share.

He wants to thank her but has a feeling any show of appreciation will cause her to pull away. Instead he lightly accuses, “So you’ve been watching me?”

She wrinkles her nose in disgust, “ _No._ Bugs are just gross—”

“Bugs are high in protein!” He argues with a smile.

“Ugh,” she groans before stalking away. Stopping only to throw him one more glance and say, “Um. Thanks, by the way.”

Before he can respond, she’s already disappeared again.

* * *

“So let me get this straight,” Bow says, as if they haven’t spent the last hour listening to Scorpia’s tale and cross-questioning her. His map and figurines are placed over the table in the War room and he uses them to recount the events, “You’re telling us that Catra let Shadow Weaver escape because Hordak was threatening to send her to Beast Island?”

 _Beast Island_. Adora remembers the Horde-horror stories about that place with a shudder.

“It’s a fate worse than death,” Adora mutters, more to herself than anyone else.

“Right,” Bow nods, “And now, because Catra let Shadow Weaver go—she’s getting sent to Beast Island in her place?”

“When?” Adora asks, voice strong and demanding, “When is this happening?”

She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t have the _slightest_ clue what to do, but she needs to know how much time she has to work with.

“Um, so—about that,” Scorpia scratches the back of her head nervously, “I-I think it already happened. Maybe. I mean, no one would tell me where Catra was! And by the time I got Entrapta to tell me what Hordak was planning to do with her and found her cell, it was already empty!”

Adora’s eyes widen at that and a silence falls across the table. She can feel Angella eying her wearily, the implications behind her statement weighing heavily.

“So what are we supposed to do?” Mermista sighs from her chair, “Go on some super dangerous rescue mission for someone who might already be dead?”

_Catra. Dead._

Adora knows Mermista, she knows the words aren’t poised to hurt her. She knows that none of the other Princesses know that much about Catra, other than that she’s Hordak’s second in command and Adora’s former best friend.

She knows that they’re truly under no obligation to care. But still, her brain won’t form the connection. ‘Catra’ and ‘dead’ are separate words. They’re not connected, they can’t be.

She’s never given much thought to what would happen in the long term of their friendship turned rivalry. She was just…taking it day by day. Trying to keep her head afloat, trying to protect the Rebellion—trying to be the She-Ra everyone needs her to be. She sort of just…assumed, hoped that the pieces would fall into place one day.

That maybe one day Catra would, by some miracle or another, leave the Horde. Maybe she’d get too close to winning and realize it wasn’t what she wanted.

Or maybe, if the Rebellion could defeat the Horde, it would’ve taken some time but Adora might’ve been able to convince her to let go of their grudges. Start over in an Etheria that wasn’t ruled by a looming and ominous war. A world where she didn’t need to be She-Ra, who Catra so clearly hated, was a world where maybe they could go back to the way things were.

In all of her imaginings, Adora never thought they would end up like this.

 _It can’t end like this_.

She doesn’t even realize there were tears forming in her eyes or that the room had fallen into a deafening silence until Glimmer puts her hand on her arm and says, “C’mon—this is _Catra_ we’re talking about! She’s a survivor—whether we like it or not.”

Adora offers her a half-hearted smile. She’s so grateful for Glimmer and Bow. There’s no plan yet, no confirmation yet of even what they can do for the person who’s tried to destroy them so many times—but Adora can tell they’re already on board for whatever it is.

“Okay, fine, whatever—but even if she is alive, do we even want to save her?” Mermista asks, “She’s tried to destroy all of our Kingdoms. She infected She-Ra. And let’s not forget the Battle of Bright Moon—”

“Or Princess Prom!” Frosta huffs, “She _ruined_ my Princess Prom.”

The rest of the princesses chime in, recounting events that Catra either directly or indirectly contributed to and Adora grows nervous that she might have to figure this out on her own.

She’s pulled from her thoughts when she hears a sharp whistle that silences everyone immediately. With great surprise, she realizes that the noise came from _Scorpia_.

Who’s standing on her chair, face red and looking like she’s been trying to get everyone’s attention for a few minutes. “Uh-sorry about that. You all looked like you had so much to say and, uh—I get it! Catra was a-a real thorn in your side. But that’s just because she was loyal to the Horde!”

Adora shifts her gaze downwards at that.

“Her being such a threat to you guys means that she was doing her job right!” Scorpia continues, “Well—I, y’know, right isn’t the _right_ word. But the point is, she’s not in the Horde anymore!”

“That’s right,” Bow agrees, nodding with a serious look in his eyes, “When we were in the Crimson Waste and the Horde attacked us—they didn’t have a clue what they were doing. We didn’t understand why, but it must be because without Catra, they don’t have anything. Um—no offense, Scorpia.”

“Oh, none taken!” She responds with an easy smile, “But see, that’s my point! The Horde is still strong but it’s weaker without Catra.”

“And maybe if we save her, she can help us defeat the Horde,” Perfuma considers aloud.

“And that way we take our biggest threat and turn it into an opportunity,” Netossa sighs, pieces clicking together for her.

“But even if we save her, how do we know she’ll help us?” Frosta points out.

Everyone looks to Adora in expectation, under the assumption that she knows Catra the best.

But Adora isn’t so sure that’s true anymore.

It’s Angella who speaks up next, “Whether or not Catra agrees to join the Rebellion—she won’t just be given free reign over Bright Moon. She’ll be under strict surveillance.”

“And what if she refuses to help? We go on this whole rescue mission just to have another prisoner in our ranks?” Mermista questions, “What’s in this for us?”

“Look, I don’t know if Catra will agree to join the Rebellion,” Scorpia sighs, “She can be pretty stubborn. But I do know that the Princess Alliance would still be stronger to fight the Horde if it had _more_ Princesses.”

Adora and Glimmer exchange an unsure stare before Bow asks, “Scorpia, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that—if you guys agree to help me save Catra, I’ll join the Alliance. I know I don’t have any like, crazy powers like you guys, but more is always better, right? Or is it less is more? Shoot, I never got that right—”

“Ugh,” Mermista cuts off her rambling, looking at Adora, “She’s right. The Horde is like, weaker now, and we could use all the help we can get. If we get another Princess out of this then I _guess_ we should do it.”

The rest of the table nods in agreement and Adora takes a steadying breath before looking down at Bow’s map and the figurines. She picks up the one modeled after Catra and says, “Alright. We’re doing this.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she hears some rumbling from somewhere within the walls. The rest of the Princesses hear it too, because then they all turn around and look for the source of the disruption.

Moments later with a loud, “Wo _ah!"_ And a crashing _thud,_ the screen off of the vent by the ceiling falls down and Entrapta comes crashing down with it.

When she’s face-first flat down on the floor, Scorpia chuckles awkwardly, “Did I say you’d get _one_ more princess in your Alliance? I meant two.”

* * *

They fall into a bit of a pattern after that.

Catra leaves Micah a share of the food she’s gathered that day, but typically goes unseen.

He knows this is intentional. He knows that every time he turns around to find rations placed where he was standing just moments ago that she waits out somewhere to ensure he’s taken the food.

She’s funny. Certainly not talkative, not like he might’ve expected anyone else her age to be. And clearly she doesn’t think he’s capable of providing for himself if she keeps leaving him food. But she never stays around long enough for him to thank her.

Around the third day of this happening, he calls out in an amused tone, “You can stick around, you know.”

Nothing. But he knows she heard him, so he tries a different approach.

“I have something for you.”

Tree leaves rustle as she hops down from where she was perched. Her face is neutral, trying to appear disinterested but he can tell it’s just a mere façade.

Briefly, he wonders what consequences there were in the Horde if cadets showed an interest in anything other than training.

“Still getting those migraines, kid?” He asks.

Catra’s face falters for a moment, as though she’s debating how honest she can be.

It’s all the answer he needs, though, so he hands her two thin but elongated ear cuffs that are encased in a faint purple light.

Eyeing him cautiously she takes them and asks, “What am I supposed to do with these?”

“For your ears,” He explains, voice patient and even, “If I’m correct in assuming your migraine is caused by the signal, they should be able to block out the high frequency from this distance.”

Micah recalls learning about balancing spells in Mystacor, ones that held equal parts magic and healing abilities. He’d been fairly out of practice for any magic that wasn’t defensive in nature, so he’s nervously optimistic about their efficacy.

She slips them on the outside of her ears, just at the bottom corner, and the light fades as they snap into place.

“But only from a distance,” He warns her, “The closer you get to the signal, the more they’ll lose their power.”

Blinking in surprise at the disappearance of the white noise that had been plaguing her for far too long, Catra looks at him in confusion. “Magic?” She asks.

He chuckles good naturedly, noticing how she already seems more relaxed. He might even dare to think he’s gained an ounce of her trust.

“Of course, I’m surprised you haven’t showed off your skills yet,” He challenges, “Unless you’re worried that an old man can show you up.”

“Uhhh,” she pauses, eyebrows drawing together, “What are you talking about? Pretty sure I already handed you your ass.”

“Not sparring. I’m talking about magic.”

“Pfft,” Catra scoffs, “I can’t do magic.”

Micah laughs at that—only stopping when he sees genuine offense on her face. She turns away from him, like she’s about to stalk off into the woods again when he stops her, “Hey, just wait a second. I wasn’t laughing _at_ you, I thought you were joking. You were being serious?”

A few days ago his hand on her forearm would’ve earned him a set of claws to the face. But instead she just yanks her arm back and says, “Yeah I’m being serious. How the hell would I know how to do magic?”

The answer is simple. “You’re a magicat. All magicats have a natural ability for magic.”

“I…I don’t know what that means,” She mutters under her breath. “They don’t exactly teach this kind of stuff in the Horde.”

“Good thing you have plenty of time to learn,” Micah challenges.

That gives Catra pause. She’d only ever looked at Beast Island as a punishment. A consequence for letting her guard down; for being an idiot and trusting Shadow Weaver.

She knows she’s earned her place in exile. She screwed up majorly and now she has to pay the price. For the rest of her life, apparently.

And while she doesn’t dare hope that someone will try to rescue her, there is some stupidly resilient part of her that hopes no one else is paying for her mistake either. No matter how much she reminds herself that caring about other people is dumb and only leads to her getting hurt, the feeling won’t go away.

On the ship headed to Beast Island, Catra was surprised to realize that for the first time in her life, she didn’t have a plan. There was no exit strategy or last ditch effort to get out of her sentencing. She resigned herself to whatever was left of her fate.

But now there was this suspiciously nice middle-aged man acting like the future was something to look forward to—rather than an unending prison.

So Catra decides to stick around. Just long enough to help him build a fire and listen to him talk about Magicats and other species he’s learned about in Mystacor.

But he doesn’t stop talking. And Catra doesn’t quite mind; she notices the way he dances over certain topics of Bright Moon. She realizes he must be just another sorcerer who bent at the will of Queen Angella and, knowing of Catra’s prior allegiance to the Horde, chooses carefully to avoid the topic.

She only stays after the fire burns out because she doesn’t have much else to do. And he offers to show her the safest places to sleep. She’d be a fool to turn down his offer for first watch.

After the first night turns into the first day and the first day turns into the first week, she stops justifying her reasons for staying. Catra accepts that they’re…sort of a _team_.

She gathers their food; scouting for fruits and catching fish with an agility that Micah can never manage no matter how many times she tries to teach him. It always ends with him landing face first in the water while she snickers above the surface.

Though, to be fair, his attempts to teach her basic magic don’t ever amount to much either.

He keeps them entertained; never running out of stories to tell or insanely cheesy jokes that she’ll never admit to liking.

He’s a good fighter, too, Catra realizes after a few more unfortunate incidents with Pookas. He teaches her about the different secrets of the Island; places to avoid, hiding spots, and a surprisingly nice view of the nighttime sky.

One day they’re hiking through the mountains of the Island when the unstable ground gives way beneath him until he’s hanging onto the cliffside by just his hand.

She moves with lightning-fast speed to pull him up; her heart races with adrenaline and genuine concern, nervously looking over him to make sure he’s okay.

He brushes her off and tells her he’s fine and hey—now they’re even. He saved her life and now she’s saved his. Catra should feel relieved, the scales are balanced now and if she really wanted to disappear into the thickets of the island, she probably could.

But, much to her own surprise, she doesn’t want to.

And that thought is what keeps her up at night. Half of her is anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop; for Micah to turn around and start barking orders at her or tell her she’s useless if she’s unable to cast a spell after he spends hours trying to teach her. He never does, never gets frustrated and never does anything that makes her question her own worth.

And that uncharted territory is terrifying. He doesn’t laugh when she fails. Doesn’t hold silent grudges or make passive aggressive remarks.

He’s nice. Too nice.

  
The problem is that if they were anywhere else, they would be enemies. If Catra saw him on the battlefield, she wouldn’t have hesitated to strike him down. And maybe he wouldn’t have tried to hurt her, he certainly would’ve tried to stop her. If he even tried to talk to her when she was Hordak’s second in command the way he does now, she would’ve torn him down. Either physically or verbally.

She feels guilty accepting his niceness. She knows she doesn’t deserve it. And she definitely doesn’t deserve the genuine concern that’s written all over his face when she wakes from a Shadow-Weaver induced nightmare in a complete panic.

Catra truly can’t breathe this time. The feeling only reminds her of Hordak’s fun little oxygen deprivation chamber, which only increases her feeling of alarm. Her hand wraps around her throat, protectively, like she’s assuring herself she can still breathe. Her eyes squeeze shut.

But it doesn’t help. With each passing second she feels more dizzy, a tingling sensation beginning in the tips of her fingers. Her heart is beating erratically, chest heaving uncontrollably when he kneels in front of her.

“Hey,” his voice is gentle as ever but firm, “I’m going to grab your hands, okay?”

It’s a question—he’s probably afraid she’ll lash out at him if he just grabs her and, honestly, _fair_. But she can’t answer it, her voice is lost somewhere. At her nod, he removes her hands from her throat and holds them steady.

“Kid, I need you to breathe for me.”

 _Kid_. He always calls her kid. She doesn’t stop him. She knows it won’t do her any good. It’s a term of endearment. But does she even deserve that much?

“Catra,” His voice is louder, ringing in the echo of the night, “Catra—what do you smell?”

 _Smell?_ The question is so weird—so random that she fixates on it for a second. What _does_ she smell? Her nose flicks and she can very faintly discern the smell of ash and ember from their nightly fire.

She still can’t speak and he seems to nod in understanding, like he was never waiting for a verbal response. Moving on to his next question, he asks, “Can you hear anything?”

 _Hear._ The waves of the surrounding ocean are just loud enough for her to pick up. That and the sound of Chippets chirping in the night.

“This one might be a little weird but, taste?”

She snorts at that—a little weird? All of these questions have been strange. Regardless, she can taste the ghost tartness of the raspberries she had after they ate dinner.

“Can you feel anything?”

There’s a slight breeze in the air. It’s nice and cooling, even if it leaves goosebumps on her skin. The ground beneath her is hard and she can feel the coarseness of sand between her toes. Her shoulders droop from their defensive position, jaw starting to release some of the tension that she didn’t realize had been building.

“What do you see?”

Finally she opens her eyes, and there’s the obvious—she can see him looking at her in concern. But she looks over his shoulder, sees the way the trees shift with the breeze. The deep blue of the night sky, illuminated mounds of scrapped tech on the horizon.

She _can_ see. More importantly she can breathe. Her chest feels relaxed, like a knot loosened. He eases her grip on her hands and she feel embarrassment hot in her cheeks when she wipes away stray tears from her eyes.

After a few more steadying breaths she asks, “Magic?”

Her voice is so raspy she doesn’t even recognize it.

“No,” he shakes his head, something resembling a fond smile on his face, “Not magic. It’s a grounding technique.”

She wants to say ‘Oh.’. Or a snarky comment, deflect with a joke.

But the problem is that Catra has always been terrible at concealing her emotions. And, though she may be more exhausted than can ever remember being, guilt spills out of her in waves.

Like a floodgate opened every sin, from stealing an extra ration bar as a cadet to letting Shadow Weaver escape, comes pouring out of her mouth.

And unlike him, she doesn’t gloss over the details. She doesn’t hold back when she recounts her role as Hordak’s second in Command—how much she hated the princesses, all of Bright Moon, Queen Angella.

She talks about the one person she hasn’t let herself think that much about. About the best friend she had and lost. And the chances she had to get her back but she threw away because she was so angry and hurt.

And she talks about Shadow Weaver—every little thing that has happened between the two of them.

And when she’s finished spilling her guts and there’s nothing left inside of her ribs, he takes a seat next to her—back up against the rocks and says, “You and I—we aren’t so different.”

Catra looks at him in shock—that couldn’t be _further_ from the truth.

“I,” he sighs, flexing his hand in the open air like he’s recounting a memory, “I know Shadow Weaver. She didn’t always used to go by that, you know…”

So he shares his story of Light Spinner, one he really only ever shared with Angella and his sister, but Catra is already poised with a defense.

“I—but you…you’re a _good_ person.” She mumbles.

“I didn’t grow up in the Horde. I grew up where being ‘good’, as you call it, is the default. I grew up with a family who loved me, where I wasn’t constantly pitted against my friends,” He explains.

“Way to brag.”

“Catra,” he looks over to her, “I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

“ _Hah_. Really?”

“I think you’ve done a lot of bad things,” He replies candidly. She looks down in shame and tucks her knees close to her chest—he can already see the walls rebuilding at twice the usual speed, “Hey, hey—you didn’t let me finish. I think you’ve done some bad things. But I think a lot of bad things have happened to you, too.”

“I’ve hurt people.” She confesses, wincing as though saying it makes it any more true than it already is.

“Hurt people tend to hurt other people.”

“A _lot_ of people. Did you miss the whole part where I was basically leading the Horde?”

“Fine,” he sighs, “Then I have a question for you.”

“More questions?” She groans.

“Do you want to keep hurting people?” Micah asks in earnest.

“What?” She looks to him in surprise. Her eyes narrow and her immediate response is _no, of course not._ _Why the hell would I want to_? But she knows that might not have been true a few weeks ago. Months ago? However long ago it was that she was in the Horde. She’s starting to lose track of the time…

But she’s surprised to find that after a minute of thinking on it that her answer is genuine when she says, “N-no. No, I don’t.”

“Do you want to be a better person?”

Another pause before sincerity, “Yes.”

“Then that’s a good place to start.”

“But—I, that’s like, nothing—”

“It’s as good of a place as any.”

When she opens her mouth to argue, he interrupts and says with finality, “Bad people don’t care about getting better. Remember that.”

And that…that was enough for her to thinking about. But maybe she’ll save that for later.

Her jaw snaps shut and she’s surprised to see day breaking over the horizon. She feels utterly beat, she just wants to rest. And if she closes her eyes long enough, she can feel herself drift off.

But his voice jars her from her thoughts of sleep. “Catra, listen. There’s something you need to know.”

She already doesn’t like the sound of that.

“I’m from a sorcerer from Mystacor…but, before I was exiled…I was also the King of Bright Moon.”

Time slows down as the sound of that fateful other shoe hitting the floor registers in her ears.


	2. not your problem

“Whatever you want to say, just say it.”

Adora’s voice is far harsher than she intends for it to be and it only takes a moment for regret to seep in.

They’ve just boarded Mara’s ship after hauling in the last of their supplies. Entrapta had been far too thrilled to have access to a real First Ones ship and has spent the last few days making some dire repairs.

The Alliance, Adora included, was a little hesitant to trust her with that much power after her time with the Horde but Entrapta seems pretty eager to help Catra.

It doesn’t really help that whenever questioned about it, Entrapta falls eerily silent until Scorpia chimes in with a comment about the “Super Pal Trio”. Scorpia is _very_ eager to help but her nervous energy has been grating on Adora in a way she can’t fully comprehend.

Perfuma had been helpful in mitigating Scorpia’s unbound energy in the few days they spent preparing for the trip but was designated to stay back and guard Bright Moon with the rest of the Alliance.

Adora’s nerves are beginning to feel a little frayed and she anxiously twists at the sword-turned wristlet. Now it seems her own best friends have the same kind of nervous energy about them.

“Adora…” Glimmer starts, “We just wanted to have a little chat.”

It comes off as more of a request, rather than their usual unbound, candid conversations/

“Um, sure.” Adora looks between the two, “About what?”

Glimmer gives Bow a pointed glance that so he speaks first, “Just, you know, about…managing expectations.”

“Managing expectations?” Adora repeats, brows furrowing.

She wonders how much of this is _them_ wanting to speak to her or if Queen Angella had a private conversation with the both of them.

Mermista certainly made sure to follow up with Adora after their Alliance meeting. Although the gesture seemed friendly at first, any attempts Adora made at thanking her for her support were quickly brushed off with:

 _“If_ anything _goes wrong and it’s Catra’s fault, I’m going to make Beast Island look like a spa trip to Mystacor for her. Got it?”_

“Adora!” Glimmer shouts placing her hands on Adora’s upper-arms.

 _Oh. Right_. Adora didn’t even realize she was tuned out of their conversation entirely.

“What? What! Yes, managing expectations—got it! Will get right on that-“ She scrambles to keep up a pretense of attentiveness.

Glimmer lets out a long sigh, bowing her head when Bow speaks again, “Adora. We’re your friends. And we supported this mission—”

“Without question!” Glimmer chimes in, head snapping up to look at Adora who is suddenly very interested in a box of First One’s rations.

“Right, without question because we know you and Catra have…a history,” Bow’s voice is gentle, soothing in a way it always is when he’s about to tell her something she might not want to hear.

It might be ridiculous to think but Adora had almost forgotten what— _who_ this was all about. For. Her mind tried to treat it like any other mission, spending time mapping out the best way to get there, listing out potential threats to Bow’s dismay, strategizing the best exit plan and then spending time making sure everyone else was well-prepared.

Focusing on the questions of ‘how will we get there?’ and ‘how many rations should we pack?’ was far easier than the _other_ questions for Adora. Like what if they can’t find her? Or what if they do find her and she’s…

“But,” Bow’s voice brings her back to the present, jarring her from the worst case scenario, “This _is_ Catra. And she—I mean, you know! She threw me off of a cliff once—she bit me, she called my arrows stupid more times than I can count--”

“Bow,” Glimmer hisses in a whisper to get him back on whatever track this conversation is meant to take. “What he’s saying is…we just don’t know what to expect. If she has anything up her sleeves or if this is some _really_ elaborate plan to trick us into going to, I don’t know—the deadliest island on Etheria?”

Adora brushes Glimmers hand off, she understands their reservations better than anyone. “Look, I get it. Catra has only ever been an enemy to you guys—to the Rebellion. But I--we were—she was my best friend. And I have to at least try. But if you guys don’t want to come, I totally get it. It’s stupid and dangerous—”

“What? No!” Bow interrupts as Glimmer says, “That’s not what we’re saying!”

“Are you kidding?” Glimmer tries her best to give Adora a reassuring smile, “Of _course_ we’re coming with you! Stupid and dangerous is what the Best Friend Squad does!”

“We just don’t want you to get your hopes up,” Bow says pointedly, “But Glimmer is right—we’ve got each others backs and we’re not letting you do this alone!”

And that, Adora supposes is true. No matter what’s waiting for them on Beast Island or how this trip shapes their future, she knows they’ll be by her side.

They always have been.

“Thanks guys,” She says, hoping her eyes aren’t watering when Bow pulls the three of them into a hug.

The knot in her stomach finally loosens, shoulders relaxing when she lets them go and walks over to the helm of the ship.

“Everyone ready?” She asks, looking over their group. Scorpia gives her an enthusiastic thumbs up while she gets a vague head nod from Entrapta.

With a small, nervous smile she follows the dialogue Entrapta walked her through when talking about the upgrades she’s made to the ship.

“Darla, set course for Beast Island.”

She can’t help the awe that flows through her like the energy pulsing through the ship as it recognizes the command and confirms course. Excitement and maybe a _little_ bit of hope courses through her when the ship starts moving.

_I’m going to bring you home, Catra._

Adora doesn’t realize how intently she’d been staring at the window or the forlorn look on her own face until she sees Scorpia in a similar position near where Entrapta is tinkering away with tech on the dashboard.

* * *

 _Take a deep breath. Focus. Try to visualize it—the pattern, the symbol of the spell. Once you visualize it, then you can feel it. Instinctively, reflexively your body will follow through the motion. Center your mind on the magic and--  
_ “ **Catra**!”

 _Ugh._ Any hope of concentrating is thoroughly crushed when Micah’s spent voice carries through the air.

She smacks her palm onto the center of her forehead, making sure not to scrape the skin of her face as her hand slides downwards. She’s not sure what she’s more frustrated at:

Herself, for not getting this stupid light spell to work. Or—

Herself, still, for not picking a better hiding spot.

She thought she would be safe up here—a steeper cliffside than the one they ventured on a few days ago. When Micah nearly died—sorry, _King Micah_ nearly died, before she made an idiot out of herself and outlined every single time she nearly destroyed his daughter. And his wife. And his daughters friends. And his Kingdom. And all of Etheria—

“I can hear you grumbling!” He shouts out again, clearly having difficulty pinpointing her exact location as he stumbles around trees and heaps of scrap metal.

She’d been fairly successful at avoiding him at first. Or at least outrunning him. This is a _small_ Island and the areas that are safe and out of the signals reach are few and far between. She has her suspicions he’d intentionally given her a few hours to herself.

“What do you want?” She demands, giving up on their game of back-and-forth. Hiding is as pointless as anything else anymore.

“I just want to talk,” He says, stepping into her field of view with his hands open in a sign of peace. His eyes look tired, face a bit greyer than normal and face drawn tight.

He looks like he hasn’t slept. But Catra is going to kid herself into thinking that was out of any sort of concern for her.Of course he wouldn’t be worried about her. And she can’t hold that against him, not after everything she’s done. He’s probably just trying to find her so he can tell her to fall back on their original agreement: stay out of each other’s way.

“Sorry, should I kneel first?” She snaps, eyes narrowed. Old habits are easy to fall into, especially when she isn’t certain if she ever fell out of them.

“I get that you’re upset and I _am_ sorry, Catra,” Micah offers in sincerity.

The whole _kid_ thing was pretty annoying, seeing as she’s not even a kid but something about the use of her actual name stings a little.

Still, she’s never been…apologized to. Much less in an earnest way. And it feels like some sort of a trap so she bites back, “What? I’m just supposed to believe that? You lied to me!”

“I didn’t lie,” He explains, calmly. He doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t rise to the level of emotion in her voice or try to speak louder than her. And it’s so…so _annoying_. She can’t understand why he’s so composed all of the time or why he’s still being nice to her. Doesn’t he know how to fight with someone? “I never told you I _wasn’t_ the King of Bright Moon and I never tried to hide my identity. But I wasn’t as open about it as I could’ve been.”

He pauses, eyeing her body language carefully. Her shoulders are hunched, stance defensive and he can’t tell if she’s going to try to run away again or fight him.

“And if you want to know the truth,” Micah sighs, a sadness in his eyes she hasn't quite seen before, “I kind of…forgot. The title never mattered that much to me, anyway. I married Angie because I loved her, not so I could rule a kingdom. And coming here…I don’t miss being king. I just miss _them_.”

Her heart twists painfully at that. It’s not her family, her kingdom or even her _life_. In fact everything he misses is the opposite of what her life has been, it’s everything she’s sought to destroy.

Still, neighboring sadness washes over her. She understands missing someone—the wound that can form at the core of your being and amass until it spills over onto the war path.

But Catra thinks he has more to miss than she ever will.

“Do you remember the first thing you told me when you got here?” He asks, stepping closer to her.

The part of her that wants to run or lash out is muted by a newfound feeling of sadness.

Still, she snarks, “Yeah. Pretty sure it was ‘don’t touch me, you freak’.”

“Okay _after_ that,” he rolls his eyes, but there is no real irritation behind the gesture. “You said that you were from the Horde and I was from Bright Moon so we were enemies.”

Vaguely, she remembers something like that. Part of her brain flags how difficult it has become to simply _remember_ with quiet caution.

“Don’t you think titles would’ve just made it worse?” He asks.

It’s a genuine question. Catra doesn’t want to answer it.

Instead she laughs. Sharp. Bitter. “Why do you care? It doesn’t matter what I think!”

Something in her response is wrong. It was confrontational. Meant to rile him up. But it doesn’t. It just makes him look even _more_ sad. It’s not pity—she knows it isn’t pity, but she doesn’t understand it any more.

“Of course it does.”

His voice is still so patient, so gentle—so _god damn infuriating._ If there are tears threatening to spill over her eyes, they’re out of anger and nothing else. She stalks toward him, punctuating each of her points with a jab to his chest, “It shouldn’t! You-you shouldn’t care! I tried to destroy everything you love! You should hate me!”

Her argument doesn’t seem to convince him or sway him in the slightest. Pushing him doesn’t get elicit any sort of response either. He’s just looking at her with some sort of understanding that she can’t begin to comprehend.

He’s insane—he’s an idiot. He’s so stupid.

This isn’t how the world works. Not for her.

She’s gotten so much worse for things she didn’t even _intend_ to do. Suffered more severe consequences for mistakes she’s made. Even doing the right thing, acing drills or simulations still got her nowhere with Shadow Weaver, she could still be punished regardless.

Shadow Weaver never cared about her, always hated her no matter what she did. And one slip up and she went from being Hordak’s second in command to a disgrace. A broken part meant to be disposed of.

And Adora…she was never enough for Adora either. She thought she was, for a little bit. But Catra was nothing, not compared to sparkly Princesses or new best friends or a heroic destiny.

All of that…was out of her control for the most part. But Micah is the King of Bright Moon. And all of her actions against his kingdom and his family were purposeful. Planned. Carefully determined and vengefully acted out. The whole world could’ve caught on fire and she wouldn’t have cared.

But even faced with all of that, he doesn’t look at her with hatred in his eyes. He doesn’t try to destroy her right back.

It’s too much for her to take.

In a last ditch attempt to get him to understand, to give up and see her as the monster she is, she declares, “I’m not sorry!”

Another push to the chest.

“I don’t regret it!” And another. “I’d do it again!”

Her fist is closed when she brings it down to hit him again, but he catches her hands instead.

“I know that’s not true,” Micah says, “And I think you do, too.”

Catra wants to scream. It’s only when she tries to that she realizes she’s crying. He pulls her into a hug and it only makes her cry harder, but she doesn’t fight it.

“Why don’t you hate me?” She asks, breaths shallow between sobs.

He only hugs her tighter in response, hand at the back of her head.

It’s foreign. It’s weird. But she doesn’t want to run from it. Instead, her body relaxes as she lets herself be comforted.

After an indeterminable amount of time passes and she can feel the tears finally stop, he speaks again.

“You know, you really pack one hell of a punch, kid.”

It catches her so off guard that all she can really do is laugh and let everything feel a little bit better than it did before.

* * *

Entrapta must really know what she’s doing, Adora realizes quickly. She knew that the girl was an expert at all things tech but this is the smoothest any mission has gone for them so far.

They should get to Beast Island within the next day. It’s nothing short of astonishing.

“Wow,” Adora remarks when it’s just her, Scorpia and Entrapta at the head of the ship. It’s a bit awkward but she can’t help but say, “It’s, uh, no surprise that you guys really gave us a run for our money back there.”

They both stare at her curiously so she elaborates, “You know. When you were with the Horde. And the bots. Taking over things. Trying to conquer Etheria?”

Scorpia’s face lights up in understanding, “Oh. Ah—thanks. I mean you guys, you were pretty great too. You know?”

She’s just so darn _nice_ that Adora feels bad for being irritated with her earlier. She’s not even sure where that frustration even came from.

But she _is_ pretty sure that if it didn’t involve leaving Catra’s side, Scorpia and Entrapta would’ve probably joined the Alliance a long time ago.

“It was Catra,” Entrapta says, looking down, “She was a good leader. Efficiency was up 200% when she was in charge.”

 _200%._ Adora blinks in surprise.. “Wow…that’s a lot. I mean-I’m not surprised. It certainly felt like 200% from the other side.”

She laughs nervously and Scorpia is kind enough to return the gesture, but Entrapta’s gaze is fixed on the navigation screen.

“I tried to get Hordak to not send her to Beast Island,” she mumbles, “But he wouldn’t listen.”

 _Oh_. It makes sense now. Why she’s been so focused on getting the ship ready to go. Why she defected with Scorpia. She feels responsible.

“Hey, no, don’t do that,” Scorpia tries to comfort her. “It’s not your fault—”

“But the oxygen deprivation chamber is!” She argues, breaking her stare from the screen, “He wouldn’t have built it if I didn’t help him. And I couldn’t stop him from using that, either.”

“The what?” Adora asks, fearful. Whatever it was, it had to be bad. Scorpia gave her a pointed stare with a small shake of her head, a silent plea to not ask questions about it.

“I thought—she wasn’t moving. When I found her. I thought that was enough for him and he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t _still_ send her off.” Entrapta struggles to explain.

Adora didn’t like the sound of any of this, gut twisting painfully. What exactly happened in the Horde after she left? She knew Catra caught heat for her leaving—but she kind of assumed that stopped once she climbed the ranks.

Instead of asking any of the many questions she has, she settles for squatting down and putting a hand on Entrapta’s shoulder.

“Hey, listen to me, it’s gonna be okay. We’re going to get Catra back, alright?” She says, voice steely and determined. She waits for Entrapta to nod before continuing, “And you…you’ve done a lot to help her. Both of you. You…you’re good friends.”

Bow walks in then and Entrapta is more than happy to answer his questions about the control panels of the ship.

When she walks out of the room and into one of the storage rooms, she hears Scorpia to follow. It takes her a minute to appear, but when she does she sticks her head in the doorway tentatively.

“Hey…did you want me to follow you? I kinda thought you did, but sometimes I don’t get the hint and then Catra says we need to have another talk about boundaries—”

“Scorpia.” Adora cuts her off, wincing at the sharpness of her own tone. “What was she talking about? What air-tank thing?”

“Ohhhhhh, yeah. Right-right right. That’s what you wanted to talk about,” Scorpia looks like she’d rather be anywhere else—having this conversation with anyone else. “I just—I don’t know if Catra would really, you know, want other people to _know_ what happened. And I didn’t even see it for myself so uh—”

“Please,” Adora asks, taking hold of one of Scorpia’s pinchers, “I need to know what happened.”

“Oh, alright. But, uh, just remember you asked to hear it.” Scorpia sighs, relenting, “Hordak has this…oxygen deprivation chamber. That sort of just—I mean. It does what it says it does, that’s probably why he named it that. Pretty clever actually…”

“What does Catra have to do with that?” She asks, eyes pleading.

“I…when Shadow Weaver escaped, Catra tried really hard to find her. She lied to Hordak and tried to keep it a secret. But uh, I guess he found out. And when he did he…used it on her. And Entrapta found her passed out before she got taken to Shadow Weavers cell.”

Horror-struck, Adora doesn’t know what to say. She didn’t realize—she didn’t know— she never would’ve thought Hordak would do that to Catra.

And all because Shadow Weaver escaped. To find her in Bright Moon.

“He did that? I…I had no idea.”

Why didn’t Catra just _leave_? Before any of this could happen? Why couldn’t she have just left with Adora—and that way neither of them would’ve gotten hurt?

“What did you expect?” Scorpia asks. It’s direct, not nervous or rambling like her other questions. “I mean…it’s the Horde. We’re— _they’re_ pretty, uh, horrible.”

“I just—I didn’t think—” Now it’s Scorpia who puts her hand on Adora’s shoulder. But she isn’t sure if it’s for comfort.

Her eyes are soft and patient. “Adora…I guess you wouldn’t have any way of knowing this but…you left. And you got to go have fun and go to parties and all that jazz. I mean—that's not _all_ you did. But you had some fun, right? It just…it wasn’t like that, not for us. Definitely not for Catra. Every time you won, we failed. Don’t you remember what failure was like in the Horde?”

Adora remembers. She remembers _too_ much right now.

“I never wanted her to get hurt,” Adora says, knowing that what she wants doesn’t really matter now.

“I know,” Scorpia nods. She does know, and Adora is grateful for that. “But hey—it wasn’t all bad. But hey, it wasn’t all bad! We had some fun, you know--the Super Pal Trio!”

“Right,” Adora gives her a watery smile before heading for the door. “I think—I hear Glimmer calling me. Actually. Thanks, Scorpia!”

She is thankful, but she has to leave. She ignores Scorpia’s confusion as she nearly sprints to her room. She barely makes it inside before the tears are overflowing, spilling over her hands as she tries to muffle the sound.

Glimmer appears in her room sometime later with Bow not far behind,.

“Adora? Scorpia said you were looking for me— _oh_ ,” Glimmer’s face falls when she sees Adora on the floor, eyes red with her back against the bedframe. “Oh. Hey. It’s okay, Adora—it’s okay.”

Glimmer kneels next to her and pulls Adora into a hug—Bow follows suit with his own reassurances.

“I couldn’t protect her,” She says into Glimmer’s shoulder. It’s only part of the truth, but it’s the only part her brain will let her focus on when she’s feeling like this; catastrophizing and fixating on everything she’s done wrong.

“What?” Glimmer asks, pulling back in confusion.

“She-Ra. She’s supposed to protect everyone—it’s the stupid _Sword of Protection!_ ” Adora cries, “And I couldn’t protect her.”

 _Her_. Catra. Her oldest friend. Her harshest enemy.

“Adora,” Bow puts an arm around her shoulder, “It’s a lot more complicated than that.”

She knows that’s true. If she were in a better frame of mind, she’d remember that she was doing what she had to do. She _tried_ to protect everyone, at the very least.

Glimmer could take the easy bait and remind Adora that Catra didn’t make it easy to protect her, but she knows that won’t help right now. Instead she says, “Bow is right. Besides, that doesn’t mean you can’t help her now!”

They’re both right. Adora knows this. But she can’t help the tears from falling, and her don’t mind sitting with her as they do.

* * *

“So this is all of your junk?” Catra asks, her nails tapping across a lone sheet of metal.

When she was avoiding Micah she’d stumbled across what she could only describe as a graveyard for half-created ships and stray pieces of tech. She realized pretty quickly that this is where Micah used to spend a lot of his time before she arrived—if the tallied up boulders were any indication.

“Well it’s not _my_ junk. It’s the island’s junk that I created, uh—more junk? Out of.” He’s walking through the sand a few paces behind her, smiling ruefully at what appears to be the wreckage.

“So it’s your junk,” Catra concludes with a smirk.

She hadn’t been to this part of the island before, and out of curiosity she asked him about it. He was more than eager to show her.

“Yeah,” He relents with a sigh, “It never really amounted to much.”

“Since when do you ever give up?” She asks skeptically.

He doesn’t know how to answer the question—but she was only half-paying attention anyway. She busies herself by hopping on top of one of the prototypes he built—but even the word ‘prototype’ would be bit of a stretch.

He wasn’t much of an engineer, and it showed. Tech was never his strong suit, he preferred to rely on magic. And that reliance had gotten him pretty far—it just couldn’t get him off of this cursed island.

Still, he doesn’t want to tell her that he gave up. Doesn’t want to share how time began to blur or how his attempts grew sloppier as he began to doubt if he should even leave the island. He needs to be strong for her and protect her from falling to a similar fate.

“--I mean, this one isn’t half-bad,” Catra pulls herself out from one of the open windows of his partially-built ship.

He gasps, eyes alight with faux-surprise, “Is that, dare I say, a _compliment_?”

Any concern she has from his initial sharp intake of air falls comically flat on her face. “I take it back. This is all trash.”

“Oh come on kid,” He elbows her gently, “Lighten up.”

“I’m serious—I mean, not about the trash, obviously—some of this is _real_ bad,” She looks around, raising a single eyebrow at what appears to be some sort of rusted pipe, bent at an awkward angle with a single, thin sheet of metal resting over it, “Like, what _even_ was that supposed to be?”

“This old thing?” He asks, putting on a grin, “Obviously my greatest invention yet. Razorfin deflector. See when the light hits it _just right_ , it shines so brightly it wards them off.”

“Seriously?” Her voice is flat, unimpressed.

“Well, do you see any razorfins here?”

“So what?” She snorts, “Your great big plan was to what, scare off your dinner?”

She jumps from metal piece to metal piece. There’s that fatherly, protective instinct that threatens to bubble to the surface and tell her to be careful. But he knows she’ll only brush him off.

Plus, she looks like she’s actually having fun. Like each mound of forgotten tech is a jumping off point, a challenge to see if she can reach it.

It reminds Micah of his few lingering memories of Glimmer. Once she learned how to walk—it was game over for everyone else. He liked to joke that Glimmer didn’t learn to walk at all actually, she just skipped over that part and went right ahead to running.

And jumping. And climbing. Looking after her was a work out.

Well worth it, though.

He knows Catra must not have been much different. Or she wouldn’t have been, at least. If she weren’t raised in the Horde. He has to stop himself from wondering where, exactly, she came from. If her parents are alive, if they ever wonder where she is.

He can’t imagine they wouldn't.

“How many times do I have to tell you—they’re _high_ in protein!”

It’s the closest he’s ever seen her look to happy. Light shining down on her when she turns to him, mirth in her eyes, “I don’t know. I lost count after, like, the first seventy times.”

He scoffs at that, ready to let her know just how overdramatic she’s being when she suddenly jumps off of the post she’d been standing on.

She lands softly on her feet, but has an uneasy look on her face. “You know—I could help. If you wanted.”

Micah’s face pinches together in confusion. _Help?_

She mistakes this look for doubt or skepticism and says, “What? I’m not that bad! I’m actually…I don’t know-kind of okay with tech. Better than you, at least.”

 _Oh, the ship._ It surprises him—he didn’t intend on trying to rebuild it.

“I learned a thing or two from Entrapta. Okay?” She admits, frustrated.

“You—you want to help me build a ship?” He asks.

“You’re right, it’s stupid. Forget it—”

“No-no,” He grabs her arm before she can stalk off, “I think that’s a great idea.”

Catra looks down at that, but he bumps into her good-naturedly. “Besides, I think you could use a break from trying to cast spells.”

“Ugh!” She groans, tilting her head upwards, “I knew you saw that!”

“You just have to relax! You’re too hard on yourself—”

“I’m going to build you a ship with all holes in it.”

“Well that wouldn’t be the worst prototype I’ve come up with, believe it or not.”

“Trust me, I believe it.” She eyes the so-called razorfin deflector.

There’s a pause before he asks, “Why do you want to do this?”

When Catra looks at him again, her eyes are guarded and her words are careful. “Because. You need to get back to your family.”

 _What about you?_ —The question is on the tip of his tongue when she gives him a gentle shove.  
  
“But—if I do this, _if_ I help you get off this island,” She parses the words as if she wasn’t the one who initially offered to help, “I’m not coming with you.”

“What?” Micah asks, astonished—“Are you serious? You’re just going to stay here, by yourself? How—”

“I made up my mind,” She says, tone final. “I’m staying here. There’s—there’s nothing back for me there. And this Island isn’t so bad. So I’ll help you, but you can’t try to change my mind. Deal?”

He told himself he’d never do anything to break her trust—what little of it he has. But he shakes her hand, fingers crossed behind his back.

There’s no way he’s leaving her here on this island by herself. Even if she hates him for all eternity: he’s getting her out of here.

* * *

Catra is hallucinating. She _has_ to be.

Because there is no way the sight in front of her—the view she’s procured from her hiding place among a tall tree branch is real.

  
Maybe she ventured too far into the center of the island to find the piece of tech she’s now clutching with an iron-vice grip.

 _Guess we don’t need this now_ , the thought enters her head numbly as her breathing speeds up. She should look away—she doesn’t _want_ to see this, so why is she forcing herself to watch?

How did this happen? She was gone for maybe an hour. Three, tops.

But now there’s an unfamiliar ship docked at the shore. And she can hear muffled cries of excitement, of shock—of a _reunion_ as Micah sweeps his daughter— _Glimmer_ , of all people into what must be a bone-crushing hug.

Of course it’s Glimmer who gets to have Micah as a father. When _doesn’t_ that princess get what she wants?

Micah would never hug Catra like that. She would never let him.

Besides, this is a good thing, isn’t it? This is what Catra had _proposed_ to him. Help him build a ship, get him off the Island and reunite with his family.

She still isn’t sure why she decided to do that. A small voice, one that she uses all of her might to push down completely, tells her it’s because she cares about him. Because he’s…a good person. Even to her, of all people. And he deserves to be happy.

Helping him off of the island was a small act of atonement. It’d never come close to balancing out her ledger—but hey, it was something.

Plus, if he was off the Island and she was by herself…

\--It didn’t matter. If anything, it was a good thing that… _The Three Idiots_ managed to find their way here.

She doesn’t even notice the way her nails sharpen and dig into her the flesh of her palms as their excited chatter—close enough to hear but too far to discern, continues.

Dimly, she wonders how they found this place. Maybe they detected there was some scrapped First One’s tech here and decided to see what they could scavenge for?

But judging by the size of that ship…it doesn’t look like they’re in any short supply of tech.

Micah briefly mentioned something about a locating spell to her—possible only if the sorcerer has an object belonging to the person they’re seeking. Maybe they had tried that and finally discovered Micah was here—on the Island, for all this time?

Anyway. It doesn’t matter. She supposes her job here is done, and in a shocking change of pace, Glimmer has actually made something easier for her.

_But why does it hurt so badly?_

Catra can’t decide what hurts more: watching the tears of joy that fall from Micah’s face as he alternates between hugging Glimmer and pulling on Bow’s face—yet another thing she never let him do—or…seeing _her_ standing in between Bow and Glimmer, looking equal parts shocked and confused.

 _Adora_.

She tried so hard to push her former best friend out of her mind. It wasn’t too hard to do when out running Pookas or trying unsuccessfully to draw a spell. But she’s here—just a few yards away, and that’s a little hard for Catra to ignore.

Several realizations hit her like a sack of bricks because:

 _Oh. Oh_ shit. Adora _is_ here. On this Island. Where Catra has been exiled to. After getting kicked out of the Horde. For letting Shadow Weaver escape. _Oh no, no no—_

This is bad. Catra slides down from her branch on the tree, as silently as possible. A furious redness spreads from her chest up to her face—she can _not_ let them see her like this. Fallen from grace—thrown out and left to die by the one who brought her into power in the first place.

If being in the Horde was considered rock bottom by Adora and her stuck-up Princess friends, then how would they react to knowing Catra managed to dig herself even lower?

They’d laugh at her. Call her pathetic and worthless just like Shadow Weaver…and isn’t it true? Who gets kicked out of the Horde, of all places? Embarrassment roars up in her chest, threatening to consume her.

She has to get out of here. And it’s a shame, because she had at least been planning on getting to say goodbye to Micah but…with another glance at him and Glimmer, she realizes she’s got to be the last thing on his mind.

What does he need a goodbye from her for? Especially when he has everything he’s ever wanted in front of him? When he’s finally regained part of what he lost so long ago?

No—he doesn’t need her. He probably doesn’t even want to see her. He’ll never want to again, not when he hears Glimmer’s side of things. At best, they’ll swap stories at how pathetic she was—how _weak_.

Right now Micah looks like he’s explaining something to them, but Adora isn’t paying attention. She’s scanning the forest, eyes narrowed like she’s searching for a threat. Had Micah already told them that Catra was on the island too?

She tries to remain as still as possible. Keeping her breathing steady and blending in with the underbrush. Like this, she can hear more of their conversation. Whether or not she wants to.

“…left a few hours ago, actually. She should be back by now.” Micah’s voice is low and he sounds concerned. He’s probably worried Catra will reappear and make things awkward before he can board the ship for a quick exit.

If a tear slides down her cheek at the thought in tandem with her claws digging into the bark of the tree she’s hiding behind—no one needs to know.

Except something rustles behind her—and, because the world hates Catra, Adora’s eyes follow the sound…landing directly on her.

“Catra?” Adora’s voice calls out.

So Catra takes off, hitting the ground running. She figures Adora won’t bother chasing her—if anything her exit makes it all the more easy for them to leave.

* * *

Adora can admit Catra has always been faster than her, both on her feet and in her wit. It doesn’t help that the latter has a homefield advantage of knowing this island better than anyone.

Well. Anyone save for _King Micah of Bright Moon._ That was still…wow. That was a lot to process. But she could focus on that later—right now she had someone else to worry about.

Adora should’ve known—this is exactly what Bow and Glimmer tried to warn her about with their ‘managing expectations’ spiel. Adora _did_ expect that Catra wouldn’t just jump on the ship and count her blessings. Adora anticipated a bit of resistance.

But holy crap did she fail to anticipate how far Catra could go with the littlest bit of resistance.

Where she failed to expect Catra’s resistance, Catra failed to remember just how _well_ Adora knew her tricks. Catra had quite some distance on Adora, that was undeniable.

But the moment she tried to grab hold of a low-hanging branch and climb, Adora pushed her lungs to their limit and launched herself forward with all of her might.

It was a bold move—the success of which would all come down to a mere matter of seconds. But Adora was rewarded when, with a loud grunt, she brought both her and her former best friend to the ground.

Former enemy, now too? She wonders.

That question is answered with a sharp _no_ when Catra squirms beneath her, claws extended and aimed right for her face. Until Adora grabs them and pins them together.

A thought crosses Adora’s mind. Catra has been on Beast Island for a considerable amount of time—and Micah was so disoriented when he saw them that maybe…

“Catra! Catra—it’s just me. Adora,” She huffs out, struggling to keep Catra on the ground and prevent her from taking off again.

That was enough to get her to stop fighting for just a second, movements faltering as she looks at Adora incredulously, “What are you talking about? I know who you are!”

At that she tries, unsuccessfully, to push Adora off of her. She manages to free one of her hands and pushes Adora’s face away from hers. “Then why are you doing this?” She grunts, frustrated and pinning her shoulders down.

“Doing what?” Catra bites out.

“This!” Adora shakes her shoulder, “And _running_! I almost tripped like-five times!”

“Because we’re—” Catra’s voice starts off strong—confident. Assured in however her sentence will end, but falters. “We’re…”

Adora can fill in the blanks. But she doesn’t want to—and it doesn’t seem like Catra does either. And that’s at least _something_.

“Let me go!” Catra demands instead.

“No,” Adora narrows her eyes—knowing exactly what will happen if she does.

“No?” Catra repeats in irritation, doubling her efforts to break free of Adora’s hold. “What? You really want to brag _that_ badly?”

“Brag?” It’s Adora’s turn to echo. The accusation is enough to get Adora to loosen her hold, “Brag about _what?_ ”

“Don’t be stupid,” Catra replies bitterly. “You got what you wanted. You won. Alright?”

“Catra—what? What are you talking about?” Adora’s genuinely stumped. “What did I win?”

Catra takes the opportunity to shove her backwards—but clearly she’s more engaged in this conversation than actually taking off again because she doesn’t move to get up.

“You found Glimmer’s dad,” Catra grits out the words, like they’re painful to say.

“So? We didn’t come here for Glimmer’s dad,” Adora’s voice is tight. Annoyed. But she realizes what is so obvious to her may not be to Catra. Catra could have no way of knowing they were planning this whole thing for her. “We came here to rescue you!”

Catra’s eyes widen at that. And for a moment, she says nothing—does nothing. She just stares at Adora in surprise. It’s a small window, Adora’s heart skips a beat with hope, because _maybe_ she can explain. Maybe Catra will listen, for just this once—

But then Catra laughs. Sharp. Bitter. And Adora’s heart sinks. “You don’t seriously expect me to believe that, do you?”

Adora really doesn’t want to be on this island any longer. She has a bad feeling about it. They were far luckier than she thought they would be. Not only did they find Catra, but by some miracle they found _King Micah_. It feels like they’ve used up all of their luck for the day, and she wants to get off of the Island before anything bad can happen.

So maybe she’s a little impatient with Catra. She’s annoyed, disappointed that she even let herself hope that Catra would be happy to see her. But they can talk about that, they can talk about _everything_ on the ship. Where its safe.

“Catra,” her voice is sharp. “The entire Alliance voted to rescue you. We fixed up Mara’s ship just to _get_ here. And we can talk all about this once we get out of here…”

“How did you even know I was here?” Catra crosses her arms.

“Because Scorpia and Entrapta are on that ship _waiting_ for us to get you because I promised them I was bringing you back!”

“Scorpia and Entrapta…joined the Rebellion?” That was clearly the wrong thing to say. Catra moves further from her, legs curling in on herself. Adora knows that body language well enough from when they were kids.

“No, no no, it’s not like that—I mean. They _did_ but-” Adora can feel herself butchering the explanation. “They only agreed to join if we brought you back.”

“Why?” Catra asks, but Adora has a feeling she’s not really listening. She has a far-off look in her eye.

“Because they care about you!”

“No—why did _you_ agree?” Catra stands and Adora follows suit. “Why do you care what happens to me? You don’t need Scorpia or Entrapta in your Alliance. What’s in it for you?”

 _Because I care about you. Because you used to be my best friend. Because if I do this, I might get even the smallest part of you back. And that’s enough_.

But all of that is too hard to say. Too fragile. And Adora can’t make herself that vulnerable.

“Would you just listen?” Adora asks, “I-whats on your ear?”

She sees it then—something reflective. Purple, just on the outline of the latter half of both of her ears.

The question causes some sort of offense to Catra because she rips them off and throws them onto the ground with a huff.

Adora raises an eyebrow in question. “Uh…?”

“What?” Catra snaps, “You wanted me to listen. I’m listening.”

Adora sighs. Somehow, now that she’s gotten Catra’s attention, she doesn’t know what to say. She guesses she’ll just start at the beginning—speed run through it and then elaborate on the details later. Once they’re back on the ship…

“Shadow Weaver is in Bright Moon,” Adora says, voice quick, “And—”

“ _What_?” Catra’s voice is strained, thin. She takes another step back from Adora, hand cradling her throat, subconsciously. “She—since when?”

“She found me after she escaped the Fright Zone. Catra—that’s not the point. We can talk about that later—She was sick--”

“I know she was sick!” Catra’s voice rises. If Adora were paying more attention, she’d notice how Catra’s breathing grows more severe. “I—she left the Fright Zone. For you. She left me—she _tricked me_ for you.”

Adora hates how pained Catra looks. She’d do anything to take away that pain. To say ‘yeah. I know. Isn’t she the worst?’. Her heart aches and she needs to do something, so she reaches out for Catra.

Catra doesn’t hesitate to push her away. “Don’t touch me!”

“Catra. Come on,” Adora pleads. “I know she hurt you. Okay? But it doesn’t have to be like this-“

“What do you _know_?” Catra asks, not looking for an answer. “You don’t know anything! You have no idea-“

“Okay! Fine! I don’t know. But you can tell me,” Adora says, and the response is a little breathless. A little hysterical, but geniune. “You can tell me about it. About her. What happened in the Fright Zone. Or you can just—tell me how I don’t know anything. Okay? You can tell me all of that, but right now we have to go.”

She reaches out for Catra again, but she’s backed away. Too far out of reach.

“No. You have to go.” Catra corrects her.

“I’m not leaving without you—”

“Just go!” Catra snaps. “I’m not leaving here. Ask Micah. I was never going to leave.”

“You can’t stay here,” Adora argues. She knows the stories of this place. She knows _Catra_ knows the stories of this place.

“Go. Go be She-Ra. Go be with your friends. With Shadow Weaver—”

“Stop it-it’s not like that!”

“I’m not your problem anymore, Adora!” Catra cries in anger, fists clenched but not aimed to strike. “So just leave. It’s what you do best.”

 _You aren’t my problem. You never were_ —before the words can leave her mouth, Catra is gone. Disappeared into the forest again.

Adora sighs and puts her head on her knees. She’s going to need a different plan.

* * *

It’s incredible, really, just how powerful Glimmer has become. Micah can’t help but marvel at her when she teleports them to wherever Catra and and her friend have run off to.

Glimmer just blushes and waves him off, “Pssh. It’s no big deal!”

“My baby is all grown up,” He says, eyes watering. He still can’t believe it, not quite; but he knows they’ve got a long ship ride ahead for him to fully process all of the shock.

Hell, he’s got an entire lifetime to process it. And that realization almost knocks him off his feet.

He’d given up on that hope a long time ago. The promise of a lifetime with his family; his beautiful wife, his incredible daughter.

Micah has never felt more proud.

See, this feeling is what he was telling Catra about. The feeling of unbridled hope; of genuine excitement for whatever the future may hold.

Speaking of Catra…he turns his attention away from Glimmer and looks around the small clearing.

When he sees the blonde girl in a red Horde jacket, crumpled on the ground and miserable he realizes he might’ve gotten a bit swept up in his excitement.

“Where’s Catra?” He asks, surveying the scene in front of him with concern.

“Adora!” Bow calls out, dropping to his knees in front of her, “Are you okay? What happened?”

“What happened is you were right,” She mumbles, “I should’ve kept my expectations lower. Like a lot, lower.”

“Wildcat!” Micah can hear another voice call out from behind him, “Catra! Where are you?”

“Scorpia!” Glimmer snaps, turning around to the source of the noise, “What are you doing here?”

Micah steps backwards just in time to avoid Scorpia as she comes barreling through the clearing. She looks a _lot_ taller in person than she did from the ship where she had excitedly yelled out “Oh, hi Glimmer’s dad! I mean—Uh, Mr. Bright Moon? King Glimmer? No, that’s not it—Mr. Queen Angella’s Husband!”

“I know, I know—I was supposed to wait on the boat,” Scorpia admits sheepishly, “But I was just so excited to see Catra I just couldn’t wait anymore! But uh…where is she?”

“She says she isn’t coming,” Adora reports, gloomily, from the ground before looking up to Micah, “She said to ask _you_ about that.”

 _Right_. Micah winces as he recalls, “Well. That would be because she offered to help me build a ship off the island. As long as I promised to let her stay here.”

There’s silence among the group as they try to puzzle out what he’s told them.

“So…Catra…wanted to help you?” Bow asks. “Like… _Catra_ , Catra?”

“Like—without expecting anything back?” Glimmer continues.

“Nothing outside of me not giving her a hard time about staying but—"

“I told you she would be helpful!” Scorpia chirps, stars practically beaming from her eyes.

“She’s not being helpful!” Adora snaps, “Not to us! She just took off somewhere! She was only helping King Micah so she could stay here because staying here is just so much easier than just listening to me for two seconds!”

“Well, what did you say to her? Did you tell her Entrapta and I were on the ship? Did you tell her about the leaf I found that looks like Rogelio? Or—”

“I just…I tried to explain everything to her. Like how we found out she was here and about Shadow Weaver but she just— _ugh_ ,” Adora clenches and unclenches her fists, looking down at her hands.

It’s clear that Adora cares about her. And from what Catra has told him, Micah can certainly tell the feeling is reciprocated. Whether or not she’s willing to admit it is another matter entirely.

“Shadow Weaver is still kind of a raw subject,” Micah sighs. Catra’s had more than one nightmare about her. She was becoming more open about it with him, that’s for sure, but she still flinched if he moved in a way that caught her off guard. He nearly lost an eye when he tried to pull a bug out of her hair without giving ample warning first.

He leans down to put a comforting hand on Adora’s shoulder when the blonde snaps her head towards him, eyes narrowing, “Why were you just going to leave here without her? How could you do that? She can’t stay here by herself—”

Her tone is very accusatory in nature, blue eyes hardening with the need to place blame.

“Hey,” Glimmer interrupts, “I’m sure there’s a good reason. Right, Dad?”

_Dad?_

The word leaves them both teary eyed.

“Uh, well, you see,” He fumbles. This, admittedly, wasn’t his greatest plan. “I…may not have been planning on giving her a choice.”

He shifts his gaze to the ground in front of Adora. “Even if she never forgave me, I was going to get her on that ship.”

“Yeah, Catra isn’t exactly what I would call an an ‘ideal hostage’,” Bow cautions.

“Doesn’t matter,” Micah shakes his head, “However much she fought me, I wasn’t going let her go. I was never going to let her stay here and fend for herself. I know lying to her wasn’t ideal, but sometimes you have to make hard choices. And even if she’d make it as difficult as possible, it’s the right thing to do.”

He holds a blind hope that one day Catra would understand that.

Adora’s blazing stare falters and his eyes catch something familiar on the ground. Something purple and gleaming—a product of his magic.

The ear cuffs.

He bends down and scoops them up, “Adora. What direction did you say she went?”

“Ooh what are those?” Scorpia asks, peering over his shoulder.

He pales when Adora says _that way_ and points to the worst possible place—the center of the Island.

Where the signal is the strongest.

“Come on,” he says, standing quickly and holding a hand out to Adora, “We have to hurry—there’s not much time.”

* * *

There are two additions to their hurried journey to the center of the island that expedite their trip significantly.

The first being pookas—which were somehow more terrifying in person than in ghost stories whispered late at night in the Fright Zone.

Their appearance was a bad sign because the group had wound up actually trailing behind the pack of Pookas—meaning they had been chasing someone up ahead.

This was further confirmed by addition two; Catra’s broken headpiece. Adora nearly tripped over it when they were approaching a bioluminescent cave.

“Guys,” Her voice is shaky and uncertain to her own ears as she takes in the sight before her.

It wasn’t even cracked in a simple place—one that might be patched up with a bit of glue and some paint. It was shattered at a million different angles, as if it had been crushed by a heavy foot.

“ _Agh_ ,” Bow cries out. Adora ignores it at first—surprised that his reaction to the crushed headpiece was somehow stronger than hers. But when his knees quiver and almost threaten to give out, she snaps her attention to him.

“You don’t hear that?” He asks, eyes screwed shut and hands pressing against his ears for protection.

Adora turns to Glimmer and Scorpia, but find them in similar positions.

“The signal. It’s too strong here.” Micah says, grabbing a hold of Glimmer, “You guys have to turn back to the ship.”

“What?” Adora asks—partially out of frustration that they had just traveled all of this way only to turn around, and partially because she can’t fathom leaving without Micah or Catra.

The problem, she fears, is that Micah might be right. She can hear it now—a debilitating, high pitched noise, but suspects her abilities as She-Ra are protecting her from the full force of the sound.

“The signal of the Island—if you’re exposed to it long enough…I—it…changes you,” Micah struggles to say.

“No! I’m not leaving without you. I just got you back,” Glimmer cries, gripping to his arm for support.

If it’s affecting Bow and Glimmer so hard, Adora’s stomach twists with dread at the thought of what it might be doing to Catra. And that’s when she realizes with terror—

“The ear pieces. They were protecting her from the signal?”

Catra probably thought Adora was making fun of her for them when she ripped them off.

Micah nods solemnly, “Her heightened hearing makes her more vulnerable to the noise…the moment she set foot on the island she started to feel the effects of the signal. I used of my magic to block out as much of the noise as I could—but even then, she knew getting any closer to the center of the island was risky.”

He holds Glimmers face in his hands, “Glimmer, I need you to get everyone back to the ship. I promise I’ll join you and you’ll never have to worry about me leaving again.”

“But—” she starts to protest.

“I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about your old man—I’ve survived far worse than what this island has thrown at me,” He says with a self-assured wink.

Aside from the disruption of the signal, there’s a disturbing lack of noise that emanates from the cave. With each passing second, Adora’s anxiety intensifies.

Complying, Glimmer grabs hold of Bow and Scorpia, reaching out for Adora who swipes her hand away.

“No. I’m not leaving. I’m staying with you, Micah,” Adora announces.

“It’s not safe for you—the closer we get, the harder it’ll be to ignore!” Micah argues, a bit taken aback by the ferocity in her tone.

“I made a promise!” Adora argues right back, “And I’m _not_ going to break it again. Maybe…maybe I can’t handle it, but She-Ra can.”

Micah begins to wonder if absolute, unrelenting stubbornness is a value they instill into all Horde soldiers. He sighs and relents, kissing Glimmer on the forehead before she teleports the rest of the group away to safety.

He turns to motion Adora inside of the cave, but realizes in exasperation that she’s already begun running full-force inside.

Once inside, they’re easily able to take down the offending pookas—Adora is an incredible fighter and Micah has found a newfound energy behind his magic.

It turns out that Pookas aren’t really the issue—it’s the way they were successfully able to lead them into the heart of the island. Vines and constricting wires surround pieces of First One’s tech around them. Adora can’t tell if her vision is blurring or the wires are actually moving on their own accord, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Silently, they agree to splinter off and scout the cave in order to cover all ground as quickly as possible.

Secretly, selfishly Adora hopes she finds Catra first. She’s a fan of Micah’s brute force—act first and ask for forgiveness later approach. She wishes she’d done it sooner.

 _You can’t find her_. The signal intensifies and Adora winces. _You won't._

“Stop—stop,” She shakes her head, trying to clear the thoughts from her brain. “I’m _going_ to find her. I’m going to get her back—”

_You’ll never get her back. You were never smart enough to find her before. Never strong enough to protect her. Never important enough to get her to join you and the Rebellion._

She forces herself to fight it. To push through it.

_Even if you did—she won’t want anything to do with you. Why would she? You’re a bad friend._

It can’t be true.

_She doesn’t need you._

Maybe that is true… _but_ Adora knows she can fight the voice. She can drown it out if she remembers what Bow and Glimmer said.

The ghost of warmth of remembering Bow slinging an arm over her shoulders and reminding her, _“It’s a lot more complicated than that.”_

Glimmer hugging her tight and saying, “ _That doesn’t mean you can’t help her now_!”

She can’t change the past. She can’t alter the choices that either her or Catra have made. They both hurt each other—ended the friendship on a bruised and bloodied note.

But outside of this Island—there is the promise of time. Of moving on.

And even if there isn’t that promise, even if Catra hates her for forever; Adora would much rather have that than give into her fears and leave her behind now.

Her hand extends forward, calling for the sword and yelling, “For the Honor of Grayskull!” before she even realizes she’s doing it. She-Ra is like another skin, another layer of protection between her and the signal.

However—it isn’t Adora who finds Catra. Not at first.

It’s Micah who finds her—and he nearly misses her. Her body is curled in on itself, sprawled out on the ground like she were dropped from a great height.

It’s weird to see her with her hair fallen in her face—disheveled and out of place.

“Catra!” He calls out, relief coursing through him as he uses both his magic and his staff to break through the vines that separate them. “Catra! Oh thank god.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t react in the slightest—her ears don’t even twitch like she’s registered the sound of his voice.

Heart thundering with worry, he climbs over strewn pieces of metal and scrap until he’s knelt right in front of her. His hand shakes as he reaches out to gently nudge her shoulder.

The damage is much worse up close.

There’s a large cut near the side of her temple, flecks of gravel and dirt scattered throughout like she’d been dragged. Her clothes are tattered and accompanied with claw marks, namely on her legs.

“Hey, hey, hey—kid, come on,” Voice strained and desperate, despair grows thicker in his throat when she still doesn’t stir.

He looks around, trying to find the path of wire he’d just broken through and scanning for any sign of Adora. They might just have to risk it and carry her out to the ship like this— _maybe_ there’s something on the ship that can help them. He doubts they’d have an extensive medical supply, but maybe with his magic—and She-Ra. She-Ra can heal, can’t she?

It’s been a long time since he’s brushed up on any of the First One’s lore. Visions of two men—of a brightly colored library and heated academic debates across the long war room table at Bright Moon enter his mind.

 _She can’t help._ You _can’t help._

His immunity to the signal can only get him so far. They’re operating under a time constraint—they always have, but if he can at least get her to Adora…

“Come on, we gotta find Adora and get you out of here,” He whispers—mainly to himself, as he thinks of the best way to move her without inflicting more pain.

But of course—it’s _Adora_. The mere mention of her is what finally gets Catra to give a sign of life—a tired _mmmf_. Then a shake of her head as she mumbles the word, “Hurts.”

“That's okay kid. We’re going to stop the pain real soon, okay?” Micah hopes his voice is more calm and steady than it feels to him.

But she starts to move again, “No. Too much.”

“What’s too much? What hurts the most?” He asks, inspecting the cuts her temple. Her hand, with incredibly weakened force meets his face and pushes him away.

Using her other arm, she pushes herself upwards and moves away from him. She winces with each movement—free hand coming up to cradle the ear she’d been laying on.

“Catra,” he follows her movements, holding out his hand to her, “Come on. It’s time for us to go.”

“’M not going,” she says and it would be incredible—how even inches away from meeting an unforgiving fate she can be so resolute. So stark in her desire to self-sabotage. “Never was.”

“Please,” he pleads—he wants to help her. But she has to let him. He knows this much by now, he knows if he tries to force her into a choice it’ll only scare her off.

“Too much,” She just repeats looking down, with her shoulders slumped forward. Like the only thing keeping her up is the wall her back is against.

“What’s too much?” Micah asks again.

“It-it’s me,” she says in a tone that is hollow and lacking her usual edge. She finally looks up to him and he’s met with greyed out eyes in place of the yellow and blue.

 _Shit._ They have to go—but where the hell is Adora?

“Too far gone. Too angry. Too broken,” She says, like her voice is stuck on some sort of loop.

He puts a hand on her shoulder, “That’s not true—that’s the signal. Remember, we talked about the signal? You told me I talked about it too much, right? Remember that?”

“—And not enough somehow. Never enough.”

He sees it then—the vines that are wrapped around her feet. He pulls at them, frustrated and desperate. “Catra, come on. You don’t believe that! You’re better than that—you know you’re better than that.”

“It’s true…its why I have to stay here.” Her voice is gravely and monotonous, “I belong here. As part of the island.”

“You _don’t_ belong here!” He yells, ripping through the vines, “Listen to me—you made mistakes. But it’s—it’s not too late. It’s never too late.”

Finally he snaps through the last of them, checking her over to see if there are any lingering constrictions—but her eyes are still the same, desolate shade of gray.

Caution is a luxury they can’t afford right now. He stands and pulls her up with him. “We have to go, _now_.”

But she shoves him away again, this time a bit harder. “Go back to your family.”

“Not without you.” He grabs her wrist and tries again to find the path he used to get here, but it’s been concealed by more entangled vines.

“There’s nothing for me off of this island. I _lost_. I lost everything. I have to stay here."

The signal is growing louder in his own ears, but he fights it off as best he can. “Catra. You don’t _deserve_ this. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done—you don’t deserve this! There is still life beyond your worst moments, I _promise_ you.”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” She asks. “I know you don’t care about me.”

“ _Arghhh_.” He can’t stop the pain that rings in his ears, knees losing some of their strength. But he grabs her shoulders and says with earnest, “ _Of course I care about you_! I know you’re a good person. And I want to help you, you have to let me help you! If you come with me to Bright Moon. I can show you that it’s true.”

Something in what he says seems to break through to her because her face changes, falling open with surprise. As her jaw drops the color returns back to her eyes.

“I…what?” she asks, pupils shaking with vulnerability, “You’re serious? How-?”

Micah turns half-way away from her to cut through the vines with a blast of magic. “Because I _know_ you! I know you act like you don’t care, but you _do_. I know you think things can’t get better, but they can! I was just like you. I was used by Shadow Weaver, too. Don’t you think I hated myself for that? Don’t you think I’ve blamed myself for everything she’s done since then?”

She takes a cautious, uncertain step toward him. Eyes downcast as she says, “I don’t wanna be this person anymore. The person she made me.”

“I didn’t either! But look at me—look at what I had. If everything changes, why can’t you?” Micah holds his free hand out to her, “And you don’t have to do it alone. If you trust me—I can help you. I can show you how much better life can be.”

When Catra looks at his outstretched hand, she knows what she has to do.

“Deal.” She says before taking it.

Relieved, he pulls her forward and she lets him guide them out of the thickened tangle of wires. Slashing through with the power that cuts from his staff, he says “We just need to find Adora and then we’ll get out of here. Alright?”

He can feel her nod weakly, leaning on him for support. They only make it a couple of feet before he says, “Okay. This is where we split off. She should be somewhere around here—”

But before he can finish his sentence, Catra hisses a sharp “ _Watch out_!” and shoves him to the floor.

With horrified eyes, he sees _what_ Catra just saved him from—a giant, tentacle-like mass of vines, swiping toward them and ready to trap.

“King Micah!” He hears Adora’s voice, bright and ringing out in the dark of the cave.

While Catra pushed him out of the way in time, she wasn’t able to move quickly enough to save herself and trips over one of the snaking vines. “Adora, over here!” He calls as he grapples to his feet and rushes over to Catra.

Heavy footsteps pick up their pace as he scrambles to grab a hold of her, “Just hang on!”

But the vines seem to multiply, wrapping themselves around her like they’re swallowing her whole. Her hand reaches for him but falls limply halfway through the distance between them, eyes greying out once again.

“I…can’t.”

“Catra!” Adora—no, She-Ra calls out, terror-struck at the sight before her.

“Yes you can!” He reminds her, “I know you can!”

Sword drawn and cutting through the vines, Adora knows she certainly must’ve missed _something._ But she can’t focus on that now, she can only focus on freeing Catra as Micah pulls the cut-off vines out of the way and grabs frantically for her arm.

But she keeps sinking deeper into the tangling mess, like the life is being drained from her.

Adora manages to catch her hans just before it can sink any further, “I'm not letting you go, Catra!”

“You have to,” is the response she receives and it sends chills down Adora’s spine.

“Yeah—not happening, I told you that,” Micah says, sweat beading at his forehead as he continues to reach for her.

“I’m sorry.”

And with that, her eyes close, lids falling slowly in their descent. It feels final—like a moment sealed by fate.

_“No!”_

Unfortunately for fate, the combined will of both Adora and Micah is far more powerful. Spurred on by the urgency of the situation, Adora feels a familiar warm glow envelop her and lunges the sword deeply into the heart of the vines. But the golden light of She-Ra intertwines with something new, something foreign.

She looks up to see Micah driving the sword down deeper, purple glow flowing from the hilt of it. It’s enough to send the sword down into the ground, sending a powerful wave of light throughout the cave and disintegrating the vines in its wake.

Chest heaving with exertion, when Adora’s eyes finally readjust to the light she sees Catra laid on the ground. Unmoving and battered, but thankfully free of any more entanglements.

Just as she’s about to grab Catra, Micah beats her to it. He gingerly scoops her up—and it strikes Adora just how much smaller Catra looks like that. But there’s no time to process it, or the strange feeling in her chest when she realizes it wasn't her who saved Catra. Or even broke through to her.

It was Micah.

“Come on,” He looks to Adora, eyes determined, “It’s time to go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry for the delay in posting this!! i plan to update once a week but a certain unnamed artist decided to drop her second unannounced album of the year and it really changed things for me


	3. chances

Adora decides she has perfectly good reason to be weary of King Micah.

For one, she believes she just isn’t very good with parents. They’re unfamiliar territory, after all.

She just got lucky that being She-Ra bought her some fondness and admiration from Bow’s parents. And she’s made some progress with Queen Angella, sure, but that hasn’t come without great struggle.

Secondly, and more pressingly in Adora’s mind, is the fact that if she’s had any misfortune with parents—Catra’s had it far worse. Adora has had to protect Catra from all of the parent figures in their life—from cruel, older Force Captains all the way to Shadow Weaver herself.

So it’s a little weird for her to watch Micah carry Catra’s limp body into the ship. The act of which tips some unspoken scale and the energy in the room shifts significantly.

While Scorpia and Entrapta’s faces go from shock to worry, Adora can practically see the internal battle going on in Glimmer’s mind while he frets over Catra’s unmoving body.

Adora, still in her She-Ra form gives Darla the command to return to Bright Moon before kneeling in front of them.

“Come on,” He pleads, hands cradling Catra’s gray and sweat-sheen face, “You have to wake up. We had a deal.”

“I can heal her,” Adora says, voice serious. She isn’t even sure if it’s true, she’s only managed to heal one person before…but believing tends to be half the battle when it comes to all things _She-Ra_.

“Of course,” He nods eyes widening as he recalls the lore and mythical abilities surrounding She-Ra. He shifts Catra’s weight onto Adora’s waiting arms.

And so Adora heals to the best of her abilities. The light within her, warm and golden, passes seamlessly into Catra as Adora grips her even tighter, pulling her until she’s cradled against her chest.

The strength of her grip doesn’t let up after She-Ra fades away. If anything, it tightens in anticipation as she waits for Catra to wake up or move or do _anything_.

She notices that the main bruise on her temple isn’t completely gone but it has healed significantly, while the wounds on her legs and arms have smoothed over.

Unfortunately, Catra doesn’t give any indication of waking up anytime soon. But her chest _finally_ rises and falls with soft, steady breaths.

Adora doesn’t hold back her tears, only moving to gently swipe away the ones that land on Catra’s face.

Her wounds were extensive, she can hear Micah relay to the others. The one on her temple likely being a concussion, and that isn’t even counting what unseen toll the signal has taken on her.

No one has ever been exposed to it for that long or at that level of intensity.

When Entrapta offers to run tests with that borderline-maniacal excitement in her voice, Adora’s voice is as firm as the fingers gripping into Catra’s shoulders, “Entrapta— _no_.”

She can’t help but wonder why she was able to heal Shadow Weaver so completely, but Catra is still unconscious in front of her. Adora grits her teeth, wondering if she should try to transform and attempt it again when Micah puts his hand on her shoulder.

“Hey. You did a great job, Adora,” His voice is sincere, promising. Strong and optimistic eyes let Adora know where exactly Glimmer gets it from. “She just needs to rest.”

The group nods in agreement, with quiet murmurs turning into louder conversation. Adora decides they’re right—and Micah’s genuine compliment makes her feel a little bit better.

No one makes a move to stop her when she carries Catra out into the hallway, heading towards the room they’ve left for her. It’s small and kind of cramped—but it was the best they had to work with. She sits down on the folding bed, knowing that now would be an appropriate time to let Catra go and rest by herself.

Regardless, Adora holds on for a moment longer. She can’t help it—she can’t remember what it was like to just be _near_ Catra without threat of physical attack. Even back in the Horde…well, Adora can’t quite place why or when it began, but their physical interactions outside of trainings were guarded, underlying with the anxiety that came from being watched 24/7.

But now…it’s just the two of them in this moment. Her and Catra…she looks almost peaceful like this, save for the dirt and messy locks of hair that now fall freely across her face.

With a shaky hand, Adora brushes them out of the way. She tries to be gentle, now partially fearful of what will happen when Catra _does_ wake up. Her body is warm against Adora’s, and for a second the great divide between the pair feels more like a small, manageable fracture in the ground.

Eventually, Adora shifts her so she’s laying fully down on the cot and lightly drapes a blanket across her. She remembers that Catra could be a fitful sleeper and never liked to be wrapped too tightly.

As she walks out of the room, all Adora can hope is that one day that small fracture in the ground becomes more of a reality and less of a far-off wish.

* * *

The return to Bright Moon is…certainly _something_.

Collectively, the group underestimated how very dangerous it could be to allow Scorpia to check in on Catra hourly. Or how likely it would be for Scorpia to accidentally wake Catra up by dropping a tray of tea and toast on the floor of her room with a loud clatter.

Consequently, they also underestimated how… _surprised_ Catra might be when she awoke from near death just to find herself in a dark room, illuminated by tech that was far too reminiscent of Beast Island. Only to realize she was on a ship headed to _Bright Moon_ with her former enemies.

And the ‘former’ label might still be a little premature.

When the ruckus coming from Catra’s room became alarmingly loud with protests of ‘don’t touch me!’ and threats to quite literally jump ship, they decide it’s time to intervene.

Naturally, Adora thought she should be the one to do so. But Micah just gave her that same, kind smile and asked her to let him handle it. And while she may have agreed, she wasn’t exactly thrilled about it.

When Scorpia comes back into the room, looking quite guilty, she announces, “So, uh. It seems that, er--Catra is _adjusting_ to the, um, recent developments. In just about—everything, actually.”

Adora collapses with a groan on her chair—a strain of anger coursing through her. Of _course_ Catra was going to throw a fit. Couldn't she just be happy that they saved her?

She almost _died_. Adora wants nothing more to remind her of that, but she can’t. Because _Micah_ is handling it.

But Catra’s problem isn’t with Micah. It’s with Adora, clearly. So Adora should be the one to go in there and tell her that she has two choices:

To come to Bright Moon, willingly, and agree to join the Rebellion.

Or;

To join Shadow Weaver as Bright Moon’s second prisoner.

But, Adora realizes with a wince, mentioning Shadow Weaver right now would _really_ not be a good idea. Maybe it _is_ better Micah is talking to her.

Adora’s attempts to talk to Catra only ever seem to make things worse…

Down the hallway, Micah tries to calm Catra down.

“I _don’t_ remember saying that!” Her voice is a furious screech, but he’s put up a sound barrier around her room to prevent anyone from eavesdropping. “You tricked me!”

Micah sighs. He can’t tell if Catra genuinely doesn’t remember agreeing to trust him and give Bright Moon a shot or she’s just looking for an easy out.

Either are just as likely, and he fears the concussion isn’t doing her any favors. She looks beat—not as bad as before, thank god, but it’s clear that she was woken up far too soon.

“You need to rest,” He says. But she’s high energy right now—from waking up in an unfamiliar place only to realize she’s more or less _stuck_ there.

“What? You want me to fall asleep again just so I can wake up in a cell in Bright Moon?”

“Do you _want_ to be in a cell in Bright Moon?” He asks her pointedly. While she was sleeping, he’d been filled in on some of the goings-on in the Rebellion.

Luckily for both of them, Catra had been incredibly candid in her actions against the Rebellion. And everything Glimmer, Bow and Adora have relayed to him matched fairly seamlessly with Catra’s version of events.

“Why are you acting like I have a choice?”

“Because I have a feeling that saving the King of Bright Moon once or twice might grant you some amnesty.”

Realization dawns slowly over her face, “ _What_? What are you talking about? I didn’t—I didn’t save you. I didn’t do anything—”

“Ahh that’s right,” He pretends to agree with her, “That must’ve been someone _else_ who pulled me off of the cliff. And someone _else_ who threw themselves into the heart of the signals trap to protect me?”

“I-I wasn’t _trying_ to protect you. Or save you—don’t be so dramatic,” She glares at him. “Besides. You think I’m stupid enough to believe that they’re just going to let me _leave_? After everything I’ve done?”

 _Fair point_. He can’t foresee Angie letting that happen.

“Well—maybe not leave the Kingdom but I won’t let them put you in a cell.”

If he remembers correctly, Bright Moon doesn’t have cells, but that’s beside the point.

“Yeah, unlikely,” she scoffs, “The only way you’re getting me into Bright Moon is in handcuffs. So you better call your daughter and her _friends_ in here to just get on with it.”

“Is that what you think is happening here?” He asks, genuinely curious. “You think they came all this way just to take you as their prisoner?”

“Why else would they?” She scoffs. “Maybe I'm not with the Horde, but I know their weaknesses. As long as I’m alive and kicking, I’m still a threat to them.”

“If that’s true, why didn’t you kill their King when you had the chance?” He asks, crossing his arms.

“Better yet,” He presses, “Why did you offer to help get their King off the island back home to them?”

Her jaw opens and shuts almost comically, her face going red.

She doesn’t have an answer to that. Instead she just feels tired. She’s too exhausted to fight anymore. She really doesn’t care what they do to her at this point, she’ll say anything if it gets him to leave her alone.

“If you don’t put me in a cell then you’re a goddamn idiot,” She challenges. “I already told you I don’t regret anything I did. I’ll—”

“Why are you so hellbent on being the bad guy?” He asks, not believing a word she says, “You told me you didn’t want to be that person anymore. And it’s tough, but you’ve already been putting in the work.”

Catra tries to ignore him. Sitting back down on the bed and putting her face in her hands. Despite being off the island, there’s still a dull ache in her head.

“Look. I know it’s scary. And I know this can’t be easy. But you’re already not the same person you were yesterday.”

He sits down next to her, noticing the way she’s pushing back tears. “You don’t get it, do you? I hate them. All of them. I hate your wife. I hate your daughter and her friends. And I especially _hate_ Adora.”

Once again, he strongly doubts that she means that…but that’s a battle for another day.

“Even if that's true, you have to know by now that hate…” He explains, looking into her eyes, “ _All_ of that hate is poison, Catra.”

She blinks at him, an unspoken ‘so what?’ laying between them.

“So my question to you isn’t whether or not you want to enter Bright Moon as a prisoner,” He sighs, “But why would you drink all of that poison and wait for it to kill your enemies?"

* * *

After some time passes, Scorpia decides to check on Catra and Micah. The animosity towards Catra from the group was making her feel a little uncomfortable, and she can’t help but feel at fault for causing this whole thing.

“Why does _my_ dad have to be the one to talk to her?” Glimmer had fumed.

Adora seemed pretty frustrated too. But Bow was at least nice about it. Reminding them that Catra had just gone through a lot—and gone through a lot of it _with_ Micah.

He said she’d come around. “Eventually. Probably.”

Scorpia thinks Bow is pretty nice. Secretly, she always has, but she can appreciate it a lot more now.

When she reaches Catra’s room, Micahs sound barrier has come down and she can just hear vague murmurings between the two of them. They’re both sitting on the bed next to each other, facing the wall away from her. Catra’s ears are downturned, shoulders slumped forward.

It surprises Scorpia. She’s never seen Catra like that. So close to someone else, speaking softly.

“…think you know where to start.” He says before casting a glance over his shoulder at Scorpia. As he stands and steps out of her room, Scorpia feels like she’s been caught eavesdropping. Looking in on a moment that wasn’t hers to witness.

Still Micah smiles at her warmly with tired eyes as he passes by, and she’s about to apologize when she hears Catra’s voice, scratchy and tired, say,

“Hey, Scorpia.”

Catra has certainly never spoken to _her_ that way. Scorpia can see the surprise on own her face reflected right back at her when Catra casts her gaze to the side, hand rubbing her arm in a self-conscious movement.

“Hey wildcat,” Scorpia responds, trying to minimize the excitement in her voice. She doesn’t want to ruin whatever this moment is by being over eager.

Catra turns her body to the door and Scorpia steps in. There’s a stilted silence between them after the door shuts, neither quite knowing what to say.

Scorpia tries to break it with a question, “So, how are you feeling?”

“Is it true?” Catra asks instead. “Did you and Entrapta…really join the Alliance?”

“No!” Scorpia is quick to say, but it’s not what she means. Her brain moves faster than her mouth can keep up with sometimes. “But…yeah. Kind of, actually. But, Catra, we didn’t have any other choice.”

Catra doesn’t seem too upset by the admittance but her gaze is still fixed on the floor.

“We couldn’t stay in the Horde, not after what they did to you,” Scorpia explains and Catra’s ears twitch at that, “And we couldn’t get to Beast Island alone. Not even with the tech at Dryll. We needed help and I know, uh, you don’t particularly _like_ them—”

Catra can’t help but scoff at that—the understatement of the century.

“Okay, you _really_ don’t like them. But they were the only ones who could help. Besides, I figured after…y’know, what happened with Hordak you wouldn’t uh—mind trying to take him down?”

“What are you talking about?” Catra asks, voice sharp again. “He—he just did what the Horde does. I messed up. I let Shadow Weaver go. If anyone else did what I did…I probably would’ve also shipped them off to Beast Island too.”

“Shadow Weaver tricked you!” Scorpia reminds her, “And you made a mistake. But you didn’t deserve that. Or…y’know _any_ of what he did.”

Catra falls silent again but her disbelief doesn’t need to be voiced to be known.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry,” Scorpia tries, but Catra’s eyes meet hers with confusion, “I-I don’t want you to have to feel like you’re stuck here. I just…there was no other way.”

“Why are you…Why—do you— _ugh_ ,” Catra groans, head tilting towards the ceiling.

“Why do I what?” She asks.

“Why did you do all of this?”

“Because I've never had a best friend before!” Scorpia reminds her. And Scorpia knows that telling Catra that has never exactly gained her a positive reaction, but the pain-struck look on her face is new and curious, “And I wasn’t going to lose you or let you just stay there!”

“…bad first place to start.” Catra mumbles in the face of Scorpia’s sincerity.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve—I’m a bad first best friend,” Catra admits. It’s not said in a way where she’s leaving an opening for Scorpia to tell her she’s wrong or feed her some false validation. It’s honest, the walls that Scorpia has tried so hard to chip away at are finally lowered just a bit. “I wasn’t even—I was never even _nice_ to you.”

“Oh. Catra, it’s okay—” Scorpia reaches out to touch her, but the other draws back quickly.

Catra retracts, angling her body away from Scorpia and hand raised in defense. Remorseful tears pool at her eyes, “It’s not okay!”

She must see the sudden fear in Scopria’s eyes, because she moves back again. Eyes widen in some sort of unspoken realization, and she runs her hands across her face. “I—I’m—no. Wait. Ugh. _This is stupid_.”

Scorpia blinks at her, confused as ever when Catra requests, “Okay. Uh. I want to…I have to tell you something. But. Can you just. Turn around?”

“Turn around? Why?” Scorpia asks, but after seeing the frustrated look on Catra’s face quickly amends, “I mean—um, sure! If it…if it helps.”

Scorpia turns to face the opposite wall—really uncertain of where this is going.

It takes Catra a minute to speak. But when she does, she says. “…I’m sorry. For y’know. Not being a better friend, or whatever.”

There’s another pause and Scorpia can tell there’s something else she needs to say.

“And…thank you. For getting me off of that stupid island.”

After a moment of silence, Scorpia asks, “Permission to turn around?”

“…Fine.”

“Apology accepted, Wildcat,” Scorpia says, smiling brightly.

Catra smiles right back at her. “Friends?”

But Scorpia shakes her head in disagreement, “I don’t know about that…”

Catra looks crushed for all of three seconds before Scorpia swoops down and pulls her into her signature hug—this time, only a little less tight to avoid hurting her any further, “Cause we’re already _best_ friends!”

“Ugh!” Catra groans, “Why would you pause like that?”

Scorpia just laughs and for once, Catra does too.

* * *

Actually being in Bright Moon sucks. But Catra predicted as much.

She knows she isn’t doing much of anything to make it better for herself. She thought about what Micah had said. Even about what Scorpia said about Bright Moon not being so bad and the other Princesses being kind of nice.

She knows if she had walked off that ship, head bowed and humbled when Queen Angella realized not only that her husband was _alive_ but that Catra had some part in helping him…that she’d have less guards standing vigilantly outside of her room.

Maybe she’d be allowed to roam the grounds by herself. Or permitted to leave her room for anything that wasn’t a Rebellion meeting.

But she refused to go to those either. Catra was very much confined to her room by her own design.

She entertained the idea of relenting in the slightest. Of attending stupid strategy sessions and offering the occasional scoff at particularly bad ideas. At the very least they’d learn what battle plans to abandon based on her body language alone.

But after Scorpia talked to her until she fell asleep back on the ship, she didn’t wake up again until she found herself being swallowed by an overwhelming amount of pillows and blankets on the softest mattress she’s ever laid on.

Truthfully, she didn’t know what was beyond those doors aside from some castle guards. And she wasn’t exactly eager to find out. She hadn’t been in much condition to do so either—one of Bright Moon’s healers had been regularly changing her bandages and evaluating whatever damage she incurred on the island.

Scorpia had visited her to let her know about Rebellion meetings, careful to inform but not to push. Micah had visited her a few times—but her hearing adapted to the sounds of Bright Moon. She could hear Micah or Scorpia from a mile away and had developed a bad habit of feigning sleep whenever they tried to check on her.

She couldn’t understand why Micah had even tried so many times. Didn’t he have anything else to do? Or at least a lot of work to catch up on? And wouldn’t he rather be spending any free time he had with his family?

On the third try, he doesn’t even pretend to believe she’s asleep.

“Rise and shine kid,” He chirps, whistling and waltzing through the doors like he owns the place.

Which—well, he kind of does.

“No,” the response is futile and a bit bratty, if she’s being honest with herself. But she can’t be bothered to care.

Still, she scoffs indignantly when he rips the blanket off of her, “ _Hey--!”_

“Hay is for horses. And if you don’t get up I’ll send that talking horse in here to make you get up.”

 _Swift Wind_. Now _that’s_ a fate worse than death.

“Can’t. Migraine,” she points to her head halfheartedly. It’s a low blow, he’s been incredibly concerned over her health, but she figures anything is worth a shot.

He’s unsympathetic. “Good thing some fresh air and water will clear that right up for you.”

He tosses her a metal bottle of water, she shrieks a little when she realizes the cap isn’t fully screwed on. The look on his face suggests that might not be entirely unintentional.

“Fresh air?” she asks, sitting up.

“What?” He asks, “You thought you were just going to stay inside all day? I told you, you’re not a prisoner here.”

“Tell that to the guards outside of my door.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Did I miss your formal induction into the Rebellion?”

She glares at him before casting a sideways glance to the door.

“Come on. I’m just asking for a walk. I can show you some of Bright Moon’s grounds. It’ll be fun!”

Catra really wouldn’t mind getting outside. But…

Micah picks up on this hesitation. “Hey. No one out there is going to hurt you. I wouldn’t lead you into that.”

It’s a little concerning, the way he can tell what she’s thinking. Or who she’s thinking about. _Shadow Weaver_.

But, still she’s not exactly thrilled to see--

“And for the Alliance, you’ll have to face them eventually,” He says.

Catra bites back an irritated groan, figuring if she keep being difficult, he’ll eventually give up. And she can at least admit that she doesn’t want that. “Fine.”

They walk out of the doors and she’s surprised when the guards don't follow. Instead they resume their faceless, defensive position in front of her door.

“Seriously?” She scoffs, “They’re going to guard an empty room? What a bunch of idiots.”

Micah doesn’t share her sentiment. His face is serious, “They aren’t there to make sure you stay inside. They’re there to make sure no one comes in, too.”

“Pft. And what? Bail me out?” She looks at him curiously. “Hate to break it to you but I’m not exactly swimming in friends here. At least not ones with the same agenda. Scorpia is having _way_ too much fun here. She keeps showing me these succulents that Perfuma makes and one looks _just_ like Rogelio.”

They turn a hallway and he looks at her like she just doesn’t get it.

“What? I’m serious!” She says, “And you don’t have to worry about anyone from the Horde coming here to break me—”

“Catra,” Micah interrupts and his voice has an edge of protectiveness. “The Horde doesn’t know you're here, yet. But if they do I…I don’t think they’d be here to _help_ you.”

And oh. That’s right. She’s an enemy of the Horde now, too. It’s different, it’s real, now that she isn’t in exile. They expected her to die out there.

But she didn't.

She’s in Bright Moon. Among the Alliance. Which makes her even more of a threat to the Horde—knowing what she knows. Who else better to help take them down, now?

But, she realizes a bit hysterically, she’s also an enemy of the Alliance. She’s an enemy to everyone.

It makes her feel incredibly alone.

“Hey,” Micah stops walking, grabbing her arm. It’s comforting. Grounding. “You’re safe here. I promise.”

Catra smiles sadly in return. She opens her mouth to say something when he guides her down the steps and the light of the courtyard meets her face.

“ _Woah_ ,” She can’t help but say, a rush of air is punched out of her. He chuckles at her reaction, letting her take in the sights of greenery and flowing water.

She doesn’t wonder why Entrapta has stuck around—she must be having a field day trying to figure out the physics of the spouts of water that trickle seamlessly into each other.

It’s…actually kind of beautiful.

“Funny,” he says, “I had the same reaction as you the first time I got here.”

It’s easy for her to forget that Micah didn’t grow up here; hasn’t been here for quite some time either.

She can see Scorpia off across the courtyard and Catra almost wants to go over there and talk to her. But Perfuma is also there—and Catra doesn’t use Scorpia’s acceptance into the group as a barometer of success.

Scorpia is a princess, after all. And…she never really had half of the malice that the Horde required. She probably always belonged here and had a lot less wrongs to be forgiven in the first place.

 _Still._ She has to remind herself that Scorpia is her friend. She can’t get upset at her for being happy—especially not after all that Scorpia has done for her. Maybe talking to her and Perfuma isn’t such a bad idea.

Maybe it’s one of those stupid steps forward that Micah is always going on about.

Either way, she doesn’t get the chance because suddenly, Glimmer is in front of them, Catra instinctively flinches backwards, really not used to the whole teleporting thing and even less used to not having to go into immediate battle mode upon encountering it.

Micah steadies her with a firm hand on her back while beaming at Glimmer simultaneously.

“Dad!” She says, a little breathless. Catra doesn’t need to look over Glimmer’s shoulder to know that Bow and Adora are just a few feet away.

She’s wholly unready to face Adora—they haven’t spoken since Beast Island and…now she really wishes she’d just stayed in her room.

“…Hi Catra,” Glimmer greets after a moment. It’s awkward and solely out of politeness, but there are worse ways to be greeted.

“Sparkles.”

Glimmer opens her mouth to retort, but Micah interrupts with a laugh. Catra blinks at him in surprise, “I’m sorry—is that a nickname?”

“I guess you could call it that,” Catra offers, evaluating him carefully. He seems to genuinely find it funny.

“She never means it in a nice way,” Glimmer frowns.

“Is that so? What’s my nickname then?” He looks over to Catra in challenge.

“You don’t have one,” Catra crosses her arms. She never thought of one for him because, well, Glimmer is right. Her nicknames aren’t born out of pleasantries. 

“Oh come on, I’m sure you can think of something.”

She gives it a second of mock thought before saying, “Bug boy is the only thing coming to mind.”

“You really need to let that go,” He says with a good natured chuckle, “But we can workshop it.”

Glimmer, clearly feeling left out of the joke, clears her throat. “Anyway. What are you…you guys doing out here?”

“I’m just giving our residential nickname expert here a little tour of the grounds,” He says, “And then we have some spells to practice.”

“Spells?” Glimmer turns her attention over to Catra, hand on her hip and eyes narrowed. “You can do magic?”

And, well, she really can’t. She hasn’t had any success in that arena. But Glimmer doesn’t need to know that.

“What? You got some sort of monopoly on magic now?” She taunts, “It’s not just reserved for sparkly princesses.”

“No!” Glimmer argues, anger in her tone more evident because Catra managed to keep her own voice even, “I just didn’t know _Horde scum_ could do magic!”

“Hey—” Micah tries to interrupt.

But Catra just cackles at that, “Oh? Did you forget where your precious She-Ra came from?”

“That’s different!” Glimmer is definitely yelling now, “ _Adora_ isn’t horde scum! Not like you.”

_Not like you._

And _oh_ —did that twist the knife. Catra certainly lost her composure at that comment, just like Glimmer undoubtedly intentioned. Catra is about to open her mouth and unleash a verbal reckoning—hell, Glimmer would be lucky if it just _stayed_ verbal. But Micah physically intervenes.

“That’s enough,” He declares, stepping in front of Catra before she can do anything and make the situation worse for herself. “Now, I don’t expect you two to get along—”

“What?” Glimmer asks, voice just above a shriek. It’s apparent that this anger has been building within her for a fair bit of time. Probably ever since Micah mentioned Catra was the one on Beast Island with him. Bow and Adora are by her side now with the former physically holding her back. “You can’t be serious! Why are you defending _her_?”

“What’s going on?” Adora asks innocently.

 _What’s going on is your shiny new best friend is reminding me how much better you are than me. Just like everyone else in the Horde did. Just like Shadow Weaver—_ Catra wants to say these things, but is surprised to find she’s able to hold her tongue.

Adora chose Glimmer over Catra from the moment she met Glimmer. Before she even _knew_ her. Why would right now be any different?

Catra’s angry—she’s got a thousand scathing remarks at the tip of her tongue and there’s a perfectly empty space in the conversation for her to shoot them off.

But she doesn’t. She opens her mouth and shuts it again—remembering what Micah had told her once about feeling angry but not needing to express it. Not always, at least.

It seems like that’s what everyone is waiting for her to do—a quiet surprise and awkward pause when Catra says nothing. Scorpia and Perfuma even look a bit taken aback.

Instead, her eyes meet Glimmers in a silent fury. Narrowing ever so slightly in challenge. Catra won’t bother to defend herself, not when it’s a losing battle. But if Glimmer wants to make herself look more like a fool and berate her in the courtyard, Catra’s fine to watch someone else self-destruct for once.

Glimmer opens her mouth to say, “What happened is Catra— _mmmf—“_ but Bow puts his hand over her mouth and starts guiding her away.

“Why don’t we go for a quick walk?” He says in a nervous voice and a big smile to compensate. He’s tugging Glimmer away before she can say anything else, open spot at her side for Adora to join them.

Catra’s fists clenches at her side—because that’s the difference between her and Sparkles. Sparkles has everything. She’s a freaking princess, after all, she didn’t have to work for her power. Magic came naturally to her—because she grew up here in Bright Moon where magic and love is as abundant as terror and hate is in the Fright Zone.

Glimmer has a family. And friends who care enough—who know her well enough and still choose her. Choose to protect her, especially from herself.

“Catra?” Adora’s voice is soft and Catra is surprised that she’s even still standing here.

 _What are you still doing here? What do you want?_ —she wants to bite out. But she looks up at Micah, who’s shaking his head as Glimmer departs.

She doesn’t want to be here anymore. She doesn’t _have_ to be. And if she engages in conversation with Adora of all people—she’ll only be stuck out here longer.

Catra opts for her new favorite option—silence. She turns on her heel and walks away from both of them, back to where her empty, guarded room is awaiting her.

_So much for touring the grounds._

She was surprised Micah even visited her—much less offered to walk her around outside. But now he knows—he’s seen it for himself after all, how much his daughter hates her.

Catra is a cracked bottle of ink. Spilling over everything and staining everyone she touches. If hate truly is a poison, she’s consumed too much of it before she could understand that. It’s circulated within her for as long as she can remember, tainted her bloodstream and has become part of her.

It bleeds out of her, too, polluting anyone she comes into contact with.

And that’s what makes her different from Adora. She hurts where Adora heals.

She’s consumed so much hate that she _is_ hatred.

This is why she never left the Fright Zone. Not willingly, at least.

_God. Why did they have to take me off of that stupid island?_

“Library is this way,” Micah’s voice jars her out of her thoughts. She blinks at him in surprise, not even realizing he’d followed her.

“What?” She asks, she can feel everyone staring at them—can definitely feel the forlorn look on Adora’s face.

“We’ll save the tour for later. Maybe after our snack break,” He says, nonchalantly—as if she’s ever had a _snack break_.

“I—what?” Catra just repeats, glancing over to Glimmer and Bow’s retreating form. Why is he here? Guiding her off to a massive building—where she assumes the library is, when his daughter is upset? Because of _her_?

“Maybe spells are easier for you to learn the good ol’ fashioned way,” Micah suggests, as if nothing just happened. Or as if what occurred was a mere blip on the radar, a small fold in whatever his agenda of the day is.

She wonders if he’s being intentionally obtuse. He’s not even yelling at her for the way she handled the situation back there. Whether she was too aggressive or didn’t defend herself enough—he just goes on explaining more logistics beyond spellcasting.

As if she didn’t just ruin everything. Like always.

“What are you doing?”

“I mean. Unless you’d really rather spend time with…” his voice drops to a whisper and he holds a hand over the side of his mouth—leaning in like he’s co-conspiring with her, “ _Swift Wind._ ”

“Why are you whispering?” She asks, voice matching his regardless. She’s still not sure what’s going on here but…

“Because that horse can hear everything,” He dismays, like it’s a lesson he learned too many times. “ _And_ we’re almost at the library. Never hurts to practice our best library voices.”

“Are—are we just going to pretend that didn’t happen?” She crosses her arms, “Your daughter seems pretty upset.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks like he knows the answer, but is open to either response.

“Um. No. Not really.” That’s the last thing she wants to do right now.

“Alright then. More time to hit the books,” He nearly sing-songs.

 _Okay_. Maybe talking about her feelings is the _second_ -to-last thing she wants to do.

* * *

Their Bright Moon walks and lessons on magic become a daily occurrence.

It’s weird, at first, for the people of Bright Moon to readjust to the sight of the King—alive and unharmed—for the most part. But weirder, still, is the sight of him walking side by side with former Force Captain Catra.

They might have an easier time adjusting to it if she had a new title. Perhaps _Rebellion Battle Strategist_. But they were making as much progress on getting Catra to join the Alliance as they were making on her magic lessons.

However, now it was a common sight to see the two of them bantering playfully on Bright Moon grounds or reading old texts in the library. Together, they’re always very careful to evade any area of the grounds that might put them in close proximity to Shadow Weaver.

But their time together always ends with trips to the library. Catra has never stuck around for dinner, no matter how many times Micah asked. Or any meal for that matter.

The closest she’d come to saying yes was when Angella herself had asked Catra if she intended on joining them for dinner one night. But that was only because Catra had been so caught off guard by the request—by the Queen’s presence in general, that she nearly agreed.

Occasionally, Catra felt guilty and fearful that she was keeping Micah from his family. But he balanced out his time evenly, and whenever she wasn’t with Micah she found herself with Scorpia or Entrapta.

Perfuma, too, actually. She was kind of…alright. In Catra’s opinion. When she wasn’t being overly enthusiastic about plants or giving Catra thinly veiled advice about life and emotions and all of that other crap.

Scorpia certainly aided that friendship along. Catra thinks that if someone had written all of her qualities down on one side of a piece of paper and wrote the exact opposite qualities on the other side—that’s how Perfuma would be born.

But something about Perfuma was actually kind of calming. While hesitant towards Catra at first, she slowly began to ask Catra questions. Just surface level stuff about her time on the island, like what kind of wildlife there was—but seemed so interested in her answers.

Like it genuinely mattered to her which trees Catra thought were the easiest to climb, or how she was able to determine which berries were safe for eating and which weren’t.

Perfuma listened to her. It wasn’t about anything monumental or, you know, earth shattering, but—it felt like a lot. It meant a lot, to Catra at least.

And it didn’t feel like Perfuma had some hidden agenda. Scorpia and Micah weren’t exactly slick in their attempts to persuade Catra to join the Alliance. But Perfuma took Catra at face value and didn’t ask for more.

It does leave room for Catra to worry if there’s an external motivation behind Perfuma’s seeming indifference to joining the Rebellion. Like the Alliance really doesn’t want her to join them—like Scorpia and Micah are the only ones advocating for her membership.

She supposes that would make sense, she can practically hear Micah’s voice in her head—checking herself and saying _did you really expect them to get on their knees and beg?_

Catra isn’t sure if she’d even say yes if they did.

So instead she focuses on what she does know, which is that she doesn’t entirely hate spending time with Micah. Even if that time is on Bright Moon.

And it’s easier to enjoy Scorpia’s clumsy demeanor or Entrapta’s fixations on technology when there isn’t the looming threat of failure over their heads. And talking to Perfuma isn’t the _worst_. Also—Netossa is fun to spar with, solely because she’s the most forthcoming of the Princesses who visit Bright Moon. Doesn’t try to hide her disdain for Catra but also doesn’t it let stop her from congratulating her on her form or when she wins.

 _And_ that while magic sucks and is stupid and something she can’t get to work—she actually likes learning about the mechanics of it. She understands the conjuring, how to visualize the symbols for different kinds of energy waves and the physical motions that accompany them.

But nothing ever happens. No matter how hard she tries to channel that happy place where she’s certain all of the princesses and sorcerers pull their magic from—she just can’t. Maybe all Magicats have the ability to learn magic…but maybe she’s just a defect.

About the time that Catra lands on this conclusion is when Adora and her friends make their way into Bright Moon’s library.

She’s certain it isn’t a coincidence that they happen to be in the same place at the same time. Ever since Catra’s little show down with Glimmer, the latter has had a habit of showing her face just once or twice whenever Catra spends time with Micah.

It’s ridiculous and stupidly territorial, that much Catra can tell. Bow and Adora always trail behind her, apologetic look on their faces like they tried and failed to stop Glimmer.

Catra always ignores them. Both of them. Instead listens to Micah as he makes quick conversation with his daughter before politely promising to catch up with her later. Like Catra is a final piece of work he has to push through before he finishes his shift and gets to enjoy the reward of being home with his family.

Ignoring Adora has become a habit born out of accident. Once she realized she was capable of ignoring Adora, it’s actually become harder for her to find the words to speak to her.

They still haven’t spoken at all since Beast Island. Catra’s pretty sure she’s exchanged more words with Arrow Boy than her former best friend.

Today, Adora seems intent on changing that. She doesn’t hang back behind Glimmer with Bow and just _stare_ like she normally does. Instead she lets Glimmer and Micah talk to each other while she marches over to the table Catra’s been sitting at, surrounded by stacks of books.

For once in her life, Catra wishes there were more books.

Anything to put space between her and Adora.

“Hi Catra,” Adora’s voice is tentative and library-level appropriate.

Catra just turns the page of the spell book she’s been studying.

“How’s it going?” Adora tries again—aiming for casual, like this is just a routine conversation for them, and missing by several solar systems.

 _And—_ nothing. But Adora isn’t patient like Micah. Isn’t relentlessly optimistic like Scorpia or as self-assured like Bow in his claims that everything will work out. Not when it comes to Catra

Catra is a raw nerve for Adora. A part of her that feels so much—such frustration, sadness, hurt and confusion. And none of those feelings can ever get resolved because Catra refuses to cooperate.

But there’s a third try somewhere within Adora.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so focused on a book before.”

That gets _something_ out of Catra. It’s miniscule—a slightly tighter grip on the pages and pupils narrowing. But that’s it.

“What?” Adora snorts, deciding to just skip the pleasantries and go for obnoxious. “You’re just going to _ignore_ me now?”

And it’s so easy to fall back into the habits they had as children. Before they learned how to handle conflict, back when there was a surefire way to get someone else’s attention.

It’s childish and wrong, but Adora snatches the book from Catra and slams it shut.

“Hey!” Catra cries out, but unfortunately she didn't let the book go easily. Ripped pages fall out of the book in its wake, scattered on the table between them.

“Can’t ignore me now,” Adora says, perhaps a bit too smug. But she doesn’t really care. Not right now.

Catra’s eyes narrow, almost like she could take that as a challenge, before saying, “What do you want?”

“For you to talk to me!” Adora says, exasperated.

It’s a loaded request. Because there’s so much to say. Maybe she should elaborate—but Adora isn’t sure what she wants. A deep dive talk about everything between them? Or just an exchange of pleasantries every time they run into each other? Just until things feel less fragile between them and a heavier conversation could be held without snapping the thin line that connects them?

“Got nothing to say,” Catra shrugs. Tone cool and uncaring, like she’s reporting on something as mundane as the weather.

Adora sputters for a minute—not expecting _that_ or to be as hurt as she is by it. _Nothing to say?_ Catra always had something to say to her. Even at the worst times—they’d always get in trouble as cadets for talking between drills or whispering in their bunks to each other long after lights-out.

Even on the opposite side of a war—Catra _always_ had something to say. A taunt or an insult, but something to say regardless.

But it doesn’t have to be either way anymore. They don’t have to be fearful of getting caught talking to each other. Worried they’ll be separated or pitted against each other for being too close. And they don’t have to hurt each other anymore either.

They can go back to the way they were before… _all_ of this happened. They don’t have to keep this exhausting game up anymore.

Doesn’t Catra understand that?

Adora is used to Catra not listening to her. But not talking to her is something else entirely.

“Hah. _Wow._ Really? Nothing to say?” Adora seethes.

“Nope.” Is the response she receives, ‘p’ sound popping in a way that only fuels Adora’s anger.

“Not even a ‘thank you’ for saving your life?” Adora prods because she just _knows_ that will get a reaction.

“I didn’t ask you to do that!” Catra stands, shoving her hands down on the table where the papers wrinkle beneath her grip.

“You didn’t have to!” Adora yells, voice passionate. The world around them, for once, simply isn’t there. It’s just the two of them in this heated interaction. There’s no Glimmer or Bow to pull her away and there’s no Micah or Scorpia to distract Catra. “Of course I was going to come for you!”

“Oh, ‘of course’?” Catra brings up one finger in an air quote, “I was _fine_ on my own and I wasn’t going to hold my breath waiting for you to decide if I was worth your time!”

“Fine?” Adora scoffs, “You were _basically_ dead! I had to heal you—”

“You didn’t _have_ to do anything Adora! I told you, I’m not your problem to fix—”

“I know that!” Adora interrupts, “You were never a problem. Not to me. How can _you_ not know that?”

The anger that comment stirs in Catra is one that Adora hasn’t seen in quite some time.

“How can I not know _what?_ You really expect me to believe I meant _anything_ to you?” Catra’s voice gets louder, increasing in intensity. Something in the air shifts—Adora can feel it. A soft crackle before a much larger explosion.

“If I wasn’t just a problem to you, then how could you just _leave?_ How could you choose people you just met over me? If we were actually friends?”

And that's when Adora sees it. Right behind Catra’s head, hovering just over her shoulder is an ember. Small, at first but growing in ferocity as Catra speaks.

“Um…Catra—"

“So don’t bother lying to me! Stop pretending like you ever gave a shit—”

Underneath her closed hand, the paper on the table illuminates in a golden, orange hue. It magnifies the flame behind her head and Adora’s gaze shifts nervously between the paper and the flame.

“Or that you ever even cared about me! You only saved me so you could be the precious hero everyone wants you to be!"

“Catra!” Adora tries to interrupt again, when the flame touches the stacks of books and threatens to catch them ablaze.

“-And even if we _were_ friends—we definitely aren’t now! And we aren’t going to be, ever again!”

 _That’s it._ Adora snaps and grabs hold of her raised hand,“Catra!”

 _Finally._ Catra catches notice of the blazing flame right next to her and squeals in surprise. The smell of smoke garners the attention of Micah, Glimmer and Bow who rush over right as the flame, following Catra’s drop in anger, falls to the floor.

“What’s going on?” Bow asks.

“What?” Catra shrieks before turning to Adora in accusation, “What did you do?”

Adora grabs her sword, transforming it into a golden domed lid and jumping over the table to where the flame remains on the ground. Thankfully not spreading or growing—simply lingering near where Catra stood. Like it had no malintent or capacity to set the entire room on fire.

“It wasn’t me!” Adora says, looking up from Catra from where the flame is smoldering and dying out beneath the lid, “I think—I think that was _you.”_

Recognition dawns over Catra’s face. Adora’s right—it was Catra. Fire magic isn’t something she’s capable of—and Glimmer certainly isn’t either.

But this upsets Catra, looking from the tattered pages of the book to Adora before turning around and running out of the room.

“Catra!” Adora calls after her, but can’t get up and leave the dwindling flame back in the open air.

Glimmer, Bow and Micah all surround her—looking equally surprised.

“Where’s Mermista when you need her?” Bow tries to joke and ease some of the tension.

But it falls flat.

* * *

It’s fire. Of _course_ it’s fire.

Fire destroys. Fire ruins. Fire burns and burns and burns until there is nothing left in its war path but ash.

Fire leaves behind a trail of smoke so thick it’s impossible to breathe.

Fire is _hell_ and hell is nothing but fire.

So, of course, if Catra had any magical abilities at all—it would have to be fire. Of all the elements, of all the physical powers to connect to, it just _had_ to be fire.

Something so devastating. So uncontrollable and unforgiving.

All of the spells, any sort of magical conjuring, it never worked before. Not until Adora activated all of that anger and hurt inside of her.

Because, unlike Adora, she didn’t have some magical power bestowed upon her by an honorable deity. And unlike Sparkles or Micah, her power wasn’t forged from a place of lightness and hope—it was dark and it was twisted. It was cruel.

So Catra has locked herself away. Hidden in her room for the rest of the day. She skips dinner. She ignores the knocks on her door, the stern voices of the guards alerting her to visitors.

She sees her reflection in the cascading waterfall near the balcony of her room and angrily swipes her hand across it. But the water still reforms and shows her the scowl that's etched across her face.

Wouldn’t this power have been so perfect to have when she was leading the Horde? The Alliance never outsmarted her—they only ever overpowered her with sheer strength that she could never compete with.

But it’s not a Force Captain that stares back at Catra. It’s a set of tired eyes plagued by pesky hair that won’t stop falling in her face.

She misses that stupid headpiece. She tried to tame her hair, multiple times, out of sheer annoyance when she came back to her room. But nothing ever came of her attempts, and she hurled the offending brush across the room.

That doesn’t matter now, though. None of that matters. Not the fact that she could’ve done so much damage with this power a few short months ago. Not the fact that her reflection reminds her of nothing if not Shadow Weaver.

It’s that thought that jars her from her entranced stare of the waterfall. She supposes that, before all of this—before getting sent to Beast Island, she didn’t care if she was a monster. The villain. It was a title that fit her and all of her jagged edges.

But now, when she finally decides that she might not _want_ to be that person, so full of hate and spite and anger—the universe tells her that all she is capable of and all she is good for is destruction.

Catra knows there is a Horde outpost in the Whispering Woods that was effectively destroyed during the Battle of Bright Moon. But there might still be a skiff that can be salvaged there. There might be something that can help her get away from here with rapid speed.

If she waits a few hours, everyone will be well asleep. Catra’s heard the guards snore from their post outside of her door before. She’s climbed up to the roof more than once without their notice.

And while it’s a further drop down from her room than it is to climb a few stories to the roof, Catra is certain she can make it.

She has her mind set on doing this. It may not be her most well-fleshed out plan. But it’s enough—she’s confident enough it will work. There’s a part of her that doesn’t want to run—a selfish part that tells her to stay.

But she didn’t imagine the fear in Adora or Micah’s eyes today. She knows she better leave before she can actually hurt anyone else. If only to save Micah from the guilt of creating a monster.

He wasted a fair bit of time on her. Trying his best to instill hope and light magic within her—only for it to end in literal flames.

Catra can’t help but feel bad about the time wasted. So while she waits for the heaviness of the night to pull everyone into a deep sleep, she writes him a letter.

It winds up being short and simple. Direct to the point—

**_Knock. Knock._ **

_Ugh._ Catra shoves the note into the drawer next to the vanity in her room. She knows exactly who it is. And he won’t go away—this is the fourth time he’s tried to talk to her because he’s ridiculous and doesn’t know when to quit. The guards have given up on announcing his arrival.

She knows the only way to get him to go away is to tell him right to his face. Marching over to the doors, she huffs loud enough for him to hear, “You’re so annoying!”

Angrily, she swings the door open and says “Why don’t you ever go…”

But it isn’t Micah waiting for her on the other side. It’s Queen Angella.

“…away.” She finishes lamely, swallowing thickly at the way Angella looks down at her. Carefully composed with one eyebrow arched in question.

“Catra,” Queen Angella says, “Might I come in?”

This is…Catra doesn’t even _know_ what to think. This—she—why? There was a more likely chance of Frosta knocking on her door and asking her to make friendship bracelets than Queen Angella _ever_ asking to come…hang out?

 _Oh_. Catra realizes what this is—a formal eviction notice.

Queen Angella is asking her to leave before Catra has the chance to go herself. She steps inside, past where Catra is still staring at her with a shocked expression.

“Of course, your Majesty,” she mutters.

“Asking really was a formality,” she speaks in a regal, unquestionable tone, “I am the Queen, after all.”

There’s a small smile at the end of her sentence. It’s—confusing. Everyone in a position of power in the Horde was loud. Aggressive. Yelling at every opportunity. Yet Queen Angella can speak in a soft, mutable voice and her power remains unquestionable.

Power, Catra supposes, isn’t always loud.

The door closes behind her with a dull _thud._ No wonder the guards didn’t announce her arrival. They didn’t need to—it was _her_ kingdom after all.

“He can be quite stubborn, can’t he?” Angella speaks, looking around the room as her fingers gently graze the edge of Catra’s table. Almost gravitating towards the letter—almost like she knows, somehow.

Catra realizes she’s talking about Micah—which is perhaps the only subject she can actually speak about to the Queen, “Pfft. Um. Yeah. That’s kind of an understatement.”

But of course Angella doesn’t know—she has no way of knowing. So she turns to Catra with a remorseful smile on her face, “Such stubbornness…I never thought I’d miss it until it was gone.”

Catra would remind her that the stubbornness didn’t ever really leave—not with _Glimmer_ around. But she knows she’s in no position to push her luck.

Knowing it’ll be the last time she ever speaks to her, Catra opts for something close to comforting. “He…um. He really missed you, too.”

Angella’s eyes are alight with surprise when they meet Catra’s. Not that Catra can blame her, she’s just as surprised with herself right now.

She rubs her arm self-consciously unable to keep herself from rambling, “I mean. He also tried really hard—like _stupidly_ hard to get back to you guys. Like seriously. You should see some of the things he tried to make just to get off the island. Ask him about his razorfin deflector. Or—”

“Catra,” The queen’s voice is kind when she cuts her off. There’s a fond look in her eyes. “I didn’t come here to talk about my husbands…interesting knack for innovation. Or lack thereof.”

“Right…” Catra says, looking down and shoulders slumping, “Actually, I was just—"

“You know, I haven’t been in this room in quite some time,” Angella speaks again. Normally Catra doesn’t like being interrupted, but the queen’s voice leaves no room for argument. “It might in need of some redecorating.”

“Redecorating?” Disbelief colors Catra’s tone—she looks up to the ceiling, following Angella’s gaze. This is the nicest room she’s ever stayed in.

“Yes,” Angella confirms, “However, I assume you’ll let me know in advance should you ever try to make any changes.”

Catra really doesn’t know where this is headed.

“You know—seeing as you had such an issue with the layout of the library you felt it necessary to start a small fire, today.”

“I-uh-listen,” Catra backs away from her, putting even more space between them, “That was—I know. It doesn’t sound like it, but that was an accident—”

Sensing her jest didn’t land the way she intended, Angella backpedals quickly, “Oh, Catra, no. I was simply joking.”

“Oh,” Catra’s even more confused. What was there to joke about? She _did_ nearly set the entire library on fire.

“Forgive me. Micah, as you can see, is far better at this than I am,” Angella sighs, but Catra isn’t quite sure she knows what ‘ _this’_ is.

“I didn’t mean to,” Catra says, hating how choked her voice sounds. She knows it doesn’t matter—whether or not she meant to do anything. Intention never matters, especially not when you step out of line.

“Oh?” Angella sounds confused now, “No one thinks you _meant_ to. Is that why you’ve been hiding up here in your room?”

 _In your room_ , makes it sound like Catra is a guest here. Welcomed, somehow.

“I’m not hiding!” The same defenses go up so easily, old armor snapping into place.

“Is that so?” Angella questions, arms crossing.

Catra sort of can’t believe _this_ is what Angella is questioning her about. Why she stormed off from the library, as if she were a petulant child having some sort of temper tantrum. Instead of— _Hey Catra, why did you try to destroy the Alliance so many times? Remember when you tried to kill us? Why did you think you were even capable of changing for the better? Horde scum—_

“I don’t want to hurt people anymore!” Catra snaps, voice defensive and reared at all of the questions Angella didn’t even ask. “I don't—I don’t want this. Okay? And I’m not going to—do anything with it.”

Angella looks a bit bewildered, “With what? Your power?”

 _Don’t say ‘duh’ to the queen. Don’t say ‘duh’ to the queen. Don’t say—_ “Yes, the whole fire thing! What else?”

_Not much better._

“You’re upset…because you can conjure fire?” Angella inquires.

“Fire is bad! Obviously.”

Angella’s face softens, then. Like she’s come to a brunt realization.

“And—conjure, is a little dramatic. I don’t even know how I did it! I just know Adora was pissing me off and then… _boom_ ,” Catra recalls, “I’m not like _you_ or Glimmer. Whatever magic I have, it’s dark and it’s messed up and it doesn’t…doesn’t come from a good place.”

“Hmm,” Angella responds, studying Catra with careful eyes, before something catches her eye across the room. The hairbrush that took Catra’s earlier anger. “You know, if Adora… _angering_ you was the key to unlocking your magical capabilities, I’m sure we would’ve seen much more fire on the battlefield.”

Catra blushes at that. Unsure what to say—trying to find the words as Angella gingerly picks up the brush. “I, she—”

She doesn’t have to explain herself to Angella. She doesn’t want to.

Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like Angella needs that from her. The queen motions to the chair in front of the vanity and says, “Have a seat, Catra.”

Head bowed and ears down, she does. Instinctually, she flinches when she sees Angella raise her hand in the mirror—but she’s only holding the hairbrush. “May I?”

It takes a moment for Catra to process what Angella is asking of her. She nods slowly—remembering what the queen had said earlier about asking only being a formality. What choice does she have?

But it doesn’t feel…terrible. The way Angella combs through her hair, much more gentle and kind than Catra had been to it earlier. Her heart is hammering in her chest—never more unsure of what the hell is actually happening here.

“You know,” Angella says as she works her way through the knots and tangles of Catra’s hair. She’s a little embarrassed—unsure of when the last time even _she_ tried to work through the knots with such care, “Fire is also a source of light. A sign of cleansing and rebirth. Some may say it even symbolizes hope.”

That surprises Catra. Her eyes flicker up to where Angella is in the mirror—like she’s trying to determine if the older woman is messing with her. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Angella affirms, “And while there are some spells that are darker in nature than others—there is no clear cut difference between light and dark magic. The magic, the source of the power isn’t often what’s good or bad. It’s how the magic is used.”

Catra looks down again. That might be true. But fire had to be worse than—

“Mermista could easily use her abilities to flood entire kingdoms. But she doesn’t,” Angella continues, as if sensing Catra’s argument. “Adora could’ve taken off with the sword and returned to the Horde, couldn’t she?”

That was an option Catra was painfully aware of. But Angella’s point isn’t lost on her. So she just nods.

Once Angella is satisfied with her detangling work, she brushes Catra’s hair to the back of her head, draping over her shoulders. She leaves out a few pieces of the fringe that frame her face with careful fingers.

“You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be. I remember when I first met Micah, much younger than we are now,” she recalls with a smile as she pulls a band off of her wrist, “He was…so strong. But so uncertain of who he wanted to be.”

“But he quickly learned a little mantra, I don’t think he’ll mind if I share with you,” There’s a soft smile on her face as she wraps the band around Catra’s hair—securing it in a low ponytail, “’You are not what they made you. You are who you choose to become.’”

She finishes her sentence by placing her hands on Catra’s shoulders, leaning down so her head is a few inches above Catra’s. When Catra looks in the mirror—she’s equal parts surprised by the way her hair looks as she is by the kind smile on Angella’s face.

She’s not sure why her face is so flushed, or why she feels so uncomfortable. It’s all just…uncharted waters. She’s barely gotten used to Micah and his annoyingly unending kindness. She’s less prepared to handle even a fraction of it from Angella—of all people. The freaking Queen of Bright Moon.

Her hair looks…nice. She actually really likes it. It’s already not in her face and that's so—just… _nice_.

“…Thanks,” Catra says, feeling overwhelmed. It isn’t much, but it’s sincere.

Angella squeezes her shoulders lightly before making her way to the door.

“Oh!” Angella says, so unaware of the way Catra’s heart stops at the sudden noise, “I almost forgot why I came in here. I have an important job for you, Catra. Should you choose to accept it.”

 _Oh come on._ This has to be the most elaborate pitch yet. “Ugh. Fine! I’ll join the Rebellion. I’m so tired of everyone asking!”

What Catra doesn’t expect is the amused grin on Angella’s face. She knows, instantly, she must’ve said something wrong.

“…Actually, I was going to tell you that Bright Moon is having a celebration to mark the return of their King,” Angella explains, smile growing, “And I wanted you to work on some of the finer details with us.”

“Oh—okay,” Catra says, sighing in relief, “I can do that.”

“But—I’m glad I’ve gotten you to agree to joining the Rebellion as well,” Queen Angella’s grin is nothing if not a bit wicked.

“No—wait! I didn’t—that’s not—”

“Two birds, as they say,” She says with a flourish, ignoring Catra’s protests, “See you bright and early for tomorrow’s meeting. 9 AM, sharp!”

Resigning to her fate, Catra’s hands fall to her lap. There’s no point in trying to fight it.

“Oh, one more thing,” Angella’s body is halfway out of the door when she says, “The Rebellion has a strict rule for all meetings: no pyrotechnics! Rest well.”

The door is well shut before Catra processes the joke. Or processes the fact she’s on _joking_ terms with the queen.

Her room is darker now that Angella flickered the lights off in her departure. It is fairly late…and she should try to get some sleep soon. She has a feeling that either Scorpia or Micah will be waking her up _extra_ early for the meeting tomorrow.

She’s not sure which is worse.

But…Angella’s words resonate in her brain. She rests her head in her left hand, leaning on the vanity and thinking them over with half-shut eyes.

 _You are who you choose to be_.

So Catra tries something. A bit half-heartedly—so she wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t work. She _is_ tired after all…

But—there it is. One deep breath later and there’s a small, glowing ember hovering just over Catra’s right hand. It grows a bit larger, magnifying as she inspects it with awe, until it’s a flame the size of the palm of her hand.

It’s warm. And it casts a soft glow over everything—each of the three mirrors of the vanity reflect its light across the room. It’s actually…kind of cool. A wonderous smile falls across her face, illuminated by the magic.

Maybe fire can be a source of light, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ponytail catra? ponytail catra.


	4. breaking branches

Catra hates her. 

This may have been true for some time—but it was different before. Before Adora found the sword it was always false proclamations of “ _this is not because I like you!”_ accompanied with a furious blush. After she found the sword, Catra would’ve sworn she hated Adora more than anything but…still Adora never _truly_ believed it.

Sure, Catra was angry with her and acted out of spite—but it was always like she was trying to prove something. Prove _herself_ , not prove her alleged hatred for Adora.

But now…now Adora knows that Catra hates her.

When Catra showed up to her first ever Rebellion meeting, Adora almost didn’t notice at first. She had been sandwiched between King Micah and Scorpia, looking comically grumpy and disgruntled compared to the bright, shining looks on their faces.

Adora did a double take so quickly she nearly gave herself whiplash—because that was _Catra_. At a Rebellion Meeting. Begrudgingly, but voluntarily nonetheless.

And she looked…different.

Ever since losing her headpiece her hair had been falling wildly around her face. It reminded Adora of when they were kids, when they could be less restrained. More carefree.

The accessory had become a warning; a telltale signal in the midst of a hazy battlefield that Catra was on her way—and chaos was sure to follow.

But still…Adora knew how much Catra loved it. She wasn’t really thinking at the time, but back on Beast Island when her and Micah were rushing to the ship, carrying Catra’s despondent body, the pieces of the headpiece had caught her eye.

Before she could think better of it, she had reached down and plucked a shard of it from the ground. She has no idea _why_ she did it, much less what she’ll do with it now that it sits in her nightstand drawer.

Regardless—the only thing more shocking than Catra sitting at the end of the war room table, arms crossed and pointedly ignoring everyone in the room, was the fact that her hair was tied back. Neatly, so the bulk of her hair was out of the way, but with a few pieces loosely framing her face.

She’s still Catra—but she looks different, now.

As expected, she doesn’t say much during the first meeting.

“So like. You’re done trying to kill us and what, you wanna play nice now?” Mermista had questioned from her seat at the table in her monotone voice.

Nervously, everyone else in the room had glanced between her and Catra. They’re fighting words—at least for the former Horde officer.

But instead of saying anything, her face flushed red and she turned her head to the side. Micah and Scorpia had scrambled to say something in her defense, even Adora was wracking her brain for something to say to keep the peace but no one could come up with anything quickly enough.

“Catra has decided channel her energy into assisting the Rebellion,” Queen Angella announced, something in her tone seeming victorious. Catra just stared at her—wide eyed and mouth shut before turning her gaze back to her lap. “And with her…extensive _history_ with the Horde, she may be our best bet at ending this war. Once and for all.”

Her tone was solid as stone, ringing with the type of finality that Adora never questioned. Micah was beaming at her the entire time, grabbing her hand in silent thanks underneath the table.

But Glimmer didn’t share the sentiment. Despite the fact that this had been the plan from the beginning—save Catra, get Catra to join the Rebellion, defeat the Horde with Catra’s help, ~~get to be She-Ra and have her best friend back~~ , the princess let out a long, bellowing groan.

“Are you _serious_?” Glimmer demanded, voice furious and exasperated, “Not you too!”

“Glimmer—” Angella’s tone was sharp.

“Why do you two keep defending her?” Glimmer ranted, gesturing to Catra, who looked a bit smug. She was leaning against the back of the chair, shoulders relaxed and a smirk on her face. Almost like she was taunting Glimmer.

Adora could easily recognize that look. That’s how Catra _used_ to look at her.

“Okay, this is a fun family moment and all, but are we going to just ignore all of the damage she did, to like _all_ of our Kingdoms?” Mermista continued.

“While Catra has proven herself to be in remiss of her actions against Bright Moon and the Rebellion—she is certainly not ‘off the hook’, as it were, for damages incurred while she was fighting for the Horde. Like Scorpia and Entrapta, assisting the Rebellion is a step in atonement,” Angella explained, calmly ignoring Glimmers protests.

“But Catra has done worse. Like _way_ worse—”

“And she already suffered punishment on Beast Island,” Micah defended, standing up from his chair. Catra grits her teeth, like she’s silently wishing for a black hole to appear in the floor and suck her through it. “When I was King—before I was exiled, we didn’t treat prisoners with relentless punishment. We understood that people make mistakes—”

“Like a _lot_ of mistakes, but okay.”

“We believed that, if given proper tools, people could improve. Learn from their mistakes. Be better than they were the day before,” Micah carried on, voice passionate, “Catra is also helping with celebration preparations. And I imagine her service to the Rebellion will continue after we finally get rid of the Horde and shift towards reconstruction.”

A beat of silence fell across the room after that response. It was followed by no outright objects, until Glimmer saw an opening and took it, “Okay, but if that’s true, then why is _Shadow Weaver_ still locked up?”

Adora tensed next to her— _everyone_ in the room tensed. Bringing up Shadow Weaver to Catra was still very much an avoid-at-all-costs sort of subject.

“Because,” Micah is quick put water on the fire, “That raggedy old—”

Angella stopped him with a gentle hand, “Shadow Weaver has given no indication that she is willing to contribute to the Rebellion in any sort of productive way. Unless you’re able to argue some sort of a case for her—I suggest we drop this topic. Permanently.”

Everyone in the room shifted their gaze. Catra might not have many friends in the Alliance, but Shadow Weaver had approximately none.

“Besides, I would much rather have Catra’s _firepower_ on our side than against us. Wouldn’t you all agree?” Angella said in a lighter tone and Catra’s face turned red again.

The Rebellion muttered their assent—even though some of them must not know how literal the Queen was about the whole firepower thing.

And although Catra remained quiet for the rest of the meeting, everything proceeded as it normally did. Or at least, as it had ever since Micah returned. Adora found herself feeling fidgety towards the end—a feeling reminiscent of waiting for lessons in the Horde to end so she could catch up with Catra and giggle about irritated the Force Captains had gotten with Kyle that day.

But it seemed that Glimmer wasn’t done campaigning against Catra for the morning. After the meeting was dismissed, Adora had beelined over to where Catra was sitting. So thankful that Micah was busy talking to Angella and Scorpia was avidly engaged with Entrapta and Emily, she didn’t even realize Glimmer was hot on her trail.

“Catra,” Adora called out, trying her best to smile. She’d clearly caught her off guard—because Catra only blinked at her in surprise. But it was better than the day before—better than pretending she hadn’t even heard Adora.

Up close, Adora realized she didn’t have a plan. Or really know what to say. So she just spat out the first think that came to mind. “Your hair…is different.”

Catra crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

“No-no, like _good_ different. Like—not that it was bad before! I just...it looks nice. Is what I mean—look,” Adora sighed. She just felt tired, exhausted after worrying all night if she’d pushed Catra too far in the library. “Can we please talk? Not right now. But…soon?”

She knew she was pleading—she didn’t care.

But Catra just did what she’d _been_ doing lately. Rather than responding to Adora or coming up with her own choice—her eyes flickered over to Micah. Just briefly, while she was debating how to respond to Adora; but it was enough.

“Are you serious?” Adora scoffed, “What? Is he your keeper now?”

Maybe she was a little jealous. All Catra seemed to do is listen to Micah. Talk to Micah. Or _hang out_ with Scorpia. Even Perfuma, now too.

“I mean—what, do you need his permission for _everything?_ ” She continued, “Since when do you listen to anyone, anyway?”

Maybe that was a step too far. Or at least it should’ve been. But if anything Catra looks surprised—taken aback. Like she hadn’t expected _Adora_ to call her out like that. It’s a dry laugh that comes out of her mouth, but it’s something.

It’s followed by a small smile and it’s like there’s a little piece of the old Catra. The one who’d sneak down to Kyle’s bunk and tie his shoelaces together while he was sleeping because Adora dared her too. The same, mischievous but well-intentioned Catra who also loosened the screws of Kyle’s bunk at the end of a particularly rough training day for Adora, just to see her smile.

 _Finally_. Adora can’t help but think to herself. Like there’s a crack in the wall. Small, but just enough to let a little sunlight in.

Just as Catra opened her mouth to respond Glimmer appeared right behind her, examining the back of her head with a gasp.

“I _knew it_!” Glimmer cried in victory.

“Glimmer, what?” Adora snapped, frustrated. _Whatever this was, it better be over quick._

“Um, what the hell, Sparkles?” Catra groaned, turning around to swipe at her when Glimmer pulled on her ponytail.

The rest of the room had emptied out, save for Bow who was making his way over to them.

So it was just the four of them—until a second later when it was just _Adora and Bow._ Glimmer had teleported both herself and Catra out of the room.

“Uh, what’s going on?” Bow asked, confusion mingled in his tone.

“I don’t know,” Adora fretted, “But it can’t be good.”

Admittedly, she’d been a little out of the loop with Glimmer lately. She’d been so focused on Catra that she hadn’t been paying much attention to Glimmer’s mounting frustration with her.

Adora didn’t quite get Glimmer’s frustration either. It wasn’t like Micah wasn’t spending any time with Glimmer, not like how Catra had refused to even _talk_ to Adora. Glimmer was just being selfish—between fighting with Catra the other day in the courtyard and bringing up Shadow Weaver just to hurt her, Adora was getting tired of it.

So her and Bow had run down the halls, desperately searching for the two. Knowing something dangerous was brewing and growing more potent with each moment they were unable to find them.

Sadly, no matter how urgent their footsteps were—they weren’t quick enough to stop Glimmer’s train of chaos from derailing.

Adora didn’t find Catra so much as Catra found _her_ —running out of the Throne Room with something more than ire burning in her eyes. No matter how much time had passed, Adora still knew Catra well enough to know there were unshed tears beneath the mask of fury.

Catra didn’t even see Adora—but their shoulders collided as she brushed pass, clearly trying to put as much distance between herself and whatever had just happened as possible.

After some unintelligible shouting, Glimmer had stormed out of the room not far behind Catra. Adora had turned around to reach for her—just uttering her name in time to get her to turn around.

But the glare Catra had given her was icy, chilling Adora in a way none of their battlefield arguments ever did. It was final, like a seal over everything she had said yesterday.

 _Even if we were friends—we definitely aren’t now! And we aren’t going to be, ever again!_

Adora couldn’t do much anyway because Glimmer had instantly teleported both her and Bow to her room.

Apparently, Glimmer had been examining the tie around Catra’s hair—a white thick band adorned with miniscule iridescent stones and recognized it as her mothers. So, naturally, Glimmer had assumed that Catra stole the item and brought her in front of the King and Queen in exposition.

Angella, apparently, had gifted the band to Catra, unbeknownst to her daughter. Setting the stage for a mortifying display, complete with Glimmer insisting Catra was Horde scum with only malintent—the former commander who was too selfish, too mean, too far gone to change.

The icing on the cake is that Glimmer wasn’t even sorry—only relaying the story to her friends in scathing agitation.

This was terrible—really, honestly terrible. Adora couldn’t even hide her annoyance with her best friend. She had _just_ gotten her foot in the door with Catra and Glimmer couldn’t even let her have that.

“Why are you doing this Glimmer?” Adora accused, “Why can’t you just lay off of Catra?”

“Okay. What I think Adora means to say is—” Bow tried to amend.

“No—I wanna know! And _don’t_ accuse me of taking her side, because I’m not! I know she’s done… _a lot_ of bad things. But she hasn’t done anything since we saved her! She _saved_ your dad and this is how you’re acting?”

Glimmer turned away from them both.

“She’s right, Glimmer. You’ve kinda been coming on a little strong ever since we came back. We know you’re— _understandably!_ A little jealous that your dad has been spending time with her,” Bow pointed out.

“I’m not jealous!” Her refute is immediate, sharp.

“ _But_ it seems like King Micah is actually helping her. She hasn’t even tried to escape or-or cause some sort of riot. She even smiled at me the other day! Well—it wasn’t really a smile. It was more of like—I don’t know. Maybe she was just, sneezing, or something but she wasn’t trying to kill me! Or call me stupid or _Arrow Boy._ And—and King Micah actually taught her magic!” Bow explained, “Why can’t you accept that she might not be… _actively_ plotting against us?

“Because!” Glimmer snapped. And all of the irritation loosened in Adora’s chest when she saw the tears streaming down her face. “I wanted _that_ dad! I grew up wanting a Dad to-to teach me magic! To give _me_ advice or have stupid, inside jokes with!”

“Oh…Glimmer,” Bow spoke, voice much softer and understanding.

“But I thought…I thought that could never happen. I’d never have that. I grew up missing someone I was too young to know but now he’s back! And that was supposed to be great, but all he cares about is Catra!” Glimmer ranted, “Why does _Catra_ get that dad?”

She was openly crying when Adora said, “Glimmer, that’s not true. You have to know how much your dad cares about you!”

“It doesn’t feel like he does!” Her tone is biting—but Adora can feel the hurt.

Bow can too, because in the next moment he was pulling her into a tight hug.

“It takes time,” Bow reminded her, motioning for Adora to join. “He’s still adjusting to life back here.

“Yeah, he just—he needs to get to know you, again,” Adora chimed in. “It’s been a… _long_ long time since he’s been in Bright Moon. But you're his daughter, and you mean the world to him.”

“You think so?” Glimmer asked.

“I know it. We both do,” Bow confirmed with his best reassuring smile. “How could you _not_?”

Their assurance seemed to work. Glimmer calmed down significantly after that day, but she was still hurt. She stopped trying so hard to follow her father around.

He and Angella must’ve said something to her that day in the throne room, something that upset her enough to even give her parents both the cold shoulder whenever they tried to speak to her.

It confused Adora, but she still really didn’t get the whole…parent dynamic. She tried to avoid thinking about it—if she spent too much time thinking it over, she’d eventually come to the conclusion again that the only parent figure she ever had was Shadow Weaver.

And _that_ was something she didn’t really want to think about.

So instead, she just watched. Watched as Catra put more and more space between them after that day. It was all talk before—all telling and no showing, but now Catra made an active display of how much she hated Adora. How she preferred literally _anyone_ over her.

After one Rebellion meeting, Bow had asked Catra about the possibility of _flaming arrows_. And while she hadn’t really used her magic… _publicly_ since that day in the library, everyone knew she had been practicing with Micah. Outdoors, now.

Adora expected her to shoot him down with a scathing remark or a cold stare. Or just not respond to him at all. Instead Catra mulled it over for a minute, before responding in a cool tone, “Depends. Are you shooting short distance or long?”

“Uh…long?” He responded, but it came off as more of a question.

“Hm,” Catra sounded entertained by the idea, “We’d have to work with Entrapta about the whole speed-wind-science part of it. But we could probably make it work.”

“Arrows _and_ tech?” Bow had gasped in excitement, “ _And_ fire? That is so cool!”

If Catra was annoyed or put off by his energy—it definitely didn’t show.

She actually grabbed his arm and pulled him away, calling after Entrapta. Adora could’ve sworn she even heard Catra giggle as Bow scrambled to keep up with her pace.

But that, as it turned out, was only just the beginning. Making amends with the Alliance happened gradually, a slow but steady thrum of progress.

Seahawk was far too taken by her fire-abilities to hold any substantial grudge. Her and Perfuma had already been forming some sort of weird friendship in parallel with Perfuma’s ever strengthening relationship with Scorpia.

And the only person who liked to spar with Catra more than Netossa was Frosta. Both had originally sprung out of residual fighting-energy, but Adora had seen the way Catra would ruffle Frosta’s hair affectionately, much to the younger’s chagrin.

And she didn’t miss the way Catra would spend the time before Alliance meetings: sitting on the War Room table, talking amiably with Spinnerella and Netossa.

She got along quite well with Spinnerella, oftentimes siding with her just to get Netossa more fired up and competitive.

Queen Angella had started to accompany Micah and Catra on their walks around Bright Moon, whenever they weren’t working on the upcoming celebration. She used this time to her advantage, calling Catra out during any meetings where she was being a bit too silent. The queen, it seemed, had taken a liking to Catra and an even greater liking to reminding her of all she had to contribute.

For a while, Mermista was the only one Adora could count on to be just as distant with Catra as she had become. Aside from Glimmer, of course.

But even that began to change. As the natural opposition to fire, Micah had identified Mermista as the alleged _key_ to challenging Catra during their sessions. While Catra certainly had an edge in non-magical combat, Mermista’s comfort and familiarity with her own power gave her an advantage.

An advantage which she enjoyed _rather_ thoroughly. But this only brought out Catra’s competitive nature and motivated her to train harder. Not one to be outdone, Mermista found herself pushing her own skills in response.

Inadvertently, they had wound up bettering each other. And when they worked in harmony they were actually quite the team. Unprompted, Catra had drawn up plans to strengthen the borders of Salineas and become impenetrable to Horde forces. And Mermista was the most effective at putting out any fires that escaped Catra’s control with speed and ease.

It’s weird and foreign to watch Catra build a life right before her, one that’s very intent on excluding her.

Because now with new friends to choose from, Catra doesn’t pick fights with Adora. Doesn’t tease her or even insult her when the bait is right there in front of her. Adora literally tripped going up the stairs of the Main Hall _in front of_ Catra and Micah one day and Catra said nothing.

Granted, Adora tripped only because she was looking at Catra, silently daring her to say something to her—but the other didn’t even scoff or roll her eyes.

And when Adora walks into a room or so much as passes by Catra, the other falls completely silent.

It just hurts to know that Catra isn’t all talk anymore. She’s really serious about them _never_ being friends again. Adora has many feelings about that—about how it’s unfair and childish. She knew she’s hurt Catra but…Catra hurt _her_ too.

Worse, still, was that Catra even seems to prefer _She-Ra_ to Adora.

She used to think that She-Ra is where all of the hurt stemmed from. That maybe the fact that Adora _still_ was She-Ra is what was preventing Catra from speaking to her.

But one day, when Adora was transformed and they were scouting the Whispering Woods for any sign of the Horde—they’d been attacked by a few rogue bots.

And Catra wasn’t supposed to go too far off of Bright Moon grounds. Not as any sort of punishment, but for fear of exposing her to the Horde—even in disguise, it was risky.

So She-Ra slashed through them with ease, not even breaking a sweat. Bow and Glimmer cheered her on, Mermista even gave her a monotone _whoop_ but Catra…Catra had just stared at her. 

It was nothing like how Catra had looked at She-Ra before, eyes narrowed in animosity and lips pulled into a tight frown. Instead she looked at Adora—no, _She-Ra_ , in awe. Jaw slack and eyebrows raised in unhidden impression.

When Scorpia said, “Woah! I can’t believe she just…did that!”

Catra scoffed in response, “It’s She-Ra. What did you expect?”

And Adora felt validated by that for a near second. She almost took pride in Catra’s words—spoken as though to say _‘Yes. She just did something incredible. Did you expect anything less?’_

Like Adora was good, and that was something so obvious.

But Catra wasn’t talking about Adora. Adora could’ve slashed those bots with a training staff and Catra wouldn't have batted an eye. But She-Ra…She-Ra she respected.

Now, it seems that Catra is willing to take it a step further and go so far as to protect She-Ra. This becomes glaringly obvious when Micah reports that the Horde has blocked the path between Mystacor and Bright Moon.

Bow suggests they let She-Ra clear out the initial wave of soldiers before using Micah’s defenses to shield the path, following in her footsteps as they make their way through the forces.

“You can’t let She-Ra do all of the heavy lifting by herself,” Catra points out, not even looking at Adora.

“We’ll be right behind her to help,” Bow reminds her.

She wonders, briefly, if she turned into She-Ra right now—if that would get Catra to look at her.

“You’re just going to send her in there by herself?” Catra raises an eyebrow, “What if they’re just trying to lure her in, and you send her right into a death trap?”

“She-Ra can handle a few Horde soldiers.”

“She-Ra isn’t a weapon,” Catra argues. Seething a bit, like the thought of putting She-Ra in danger is an infuriatingly stupid battle plan, “You can’t keep treating her like she’s your magical, fix-all solution. She’ll need more support than just going in there headfirst by herself!”

“What? You don’t think I can handle it?” Adora chimes in. Tired of people speaking around her—speaking _for_ her. She knows it isn’t what Catra meant. But it doesn’t feel like a question of She-Ra’s skill…

“She-Ra has weaknesses,” Catra points out. It’s the first time Catra has addressed her in _weeks_. It makes Adora’s blood boil. “The Horde knows that. Even the Cadets know that. The minute they get her alone, she’s done for. The best plan is to go in teams—"

“I can do it on my own!” Adora snaps in frustration, standing up to assert her power.

“Okay. Fine,” Catra rises in response, deciding to shift tactics entirely, “You tell me how you think this is going to go: you, as She-Ra, go in there completely by yourself. And then what happens if there are _way_ more soldiers than you thought? Micah gets lost behind you and the Horde gets you surrounded? What will you do if we’re all waiting for a signal that doesn’t come because you got hurt self hurt trying to be the hero? And then we don’t have She-Ra at all?”

 _We don’t have_ She-Ra _at all._

Right. Because it doesn’t matter if Adora gets hurt, not to Catra. Not anymore. It’s about protecting She-Ra.

Adora watches as Catra continues to talk. Outlining some alternative plan to the rest of the group. But she feels frozen—stuck standing in place, like an outsider looking in.

And she isn’t an outsider, not really. She’s the leader of the Rebellion, of the Alliance. She could easily fight back against Catra and assert the original plan and everyone would listen to her. Catra would be mad, sure, but she’d be out ruled.

But that isn’t what she wants. She was never attached to the plan or particularly partial to it. She was just upset by Catra’s apparent lack of faith in her.

Adora might’ve been okay with Catra hating her forever. Or might eventually come to terms with it, even if she always hoped the other would change her mind.

But watching Catra hate her while also being the friend she so badly missed to everyone else is too much to handle. Adora has her limits.

And right now, even though Catra looks so different, hair swaying slightly in its ponytail as she explains her strategy and shoulders relaxed—not tense, not constantly on guard or hypervigilant like they had to be as children, all Adora can see is the Catra she used to know.

All she can feel is an overwhelming weight of something hopeless on her chest when she realizes she may never get _that_ back. The smile from someone who knew her better than anyone else or the concerned look in her eye if she could ever sense that upsetting her. A hand to hold when days were long and unforgiving, a shoulder to fall asleep on during equally tumultuous nights.

Adora’s mind betrays her by choosing to remind her of how Catra used to sneak her vitamin C packets from the infirmary whenever she was feeling sick. Being sick was a sign of weakness and, obviously could not be controlled or forbidden outright, but cadets who ever showed fatigue or illness were looked down upon.

Adora wouldn’t even have to ask, sometimes she’d come back from a warm shower to find one under her blanket or Catra would sneak one into her locker with a little note that read ‘this is NOT because I like you. you just snore louder when you’re sick.’

But, of course, it was still Catra’s decision to sleep on Adora’s bunk, even when she was sick.

It’s too much to think of that and to see the way Angella and Micah look at each other, now they’ve been reunited. The way they’re always holding on to each other, like fate separated them once before and they can’t bear to let it happen again.

More so, it’s hard to watch easy rivalry and friendly competition between Spinnerella and Netossa turn into something more kind and caring at the end of the day. Or to see the way Mermista looks at Seahawk; her exasperation with him a well put upon act that clearly fades when she thinks no one is watching.

Or how Bow and Glimmer are close to each other in a way Adora is with neither of them. She thought it’s just because they’d grown up together, after all her and Catra had been close in a similar way, but after some time on Bright Moon she realizes it’s different now. They way he can read her better than anyone else can, or how she knows just the right thing to say to him.

It’s like...like everyone has a person. Their person. They all work together as a team, sure, but at the end of a hard excursion when they just need to relax or find comfort in the quiet of the night—it’s their person they seek.

And her person was— _is_ right here. Right in front of her. But different now.

Catra isn’t her person, not anymore.

“Well, Adora, what do you say?” Queen Angella asks and Adora realizes that Catra has stopped speaking but she hasn’t heard a word of what she said.

The room was staring at her in silent expectation. Even Catra was looking at her now, arms crossed, brow raised in expectation but face kept schooled in composure.

And _oh_. Adora realizes that she’s about to cry.

So she turns her back to the room, to everyone and says, “Fine.”

Her voice doesn’t tremble, doesn’t break. Before that can happen, she runs out of the room. Ignoring the sounds of her friends calling after her, looking for a safe place to let herself just _feel_ without being under a microscope.

And so she decides to leave Bright Moon. Just for a minute. Just for the fresh, woodsy air that only the Whispering Woods has ever been able to provide.

The Whispering Woods; where it all began. Where Adora thought, maybe, she could have it all. She could be the hero, she could be She-Ra and she wouldn’t have to lose anyone along the way.

How was she to know the cost of a destiny she didn’t even ask for? One that she couldn’t refuse?

The difficult part is that Adora doesn’t want to refuse it. She likes being She-Ra. Likes fighting for the Rebellion, protecting her friends. She knows she’s better off for having found the sword—that _many_ people are better off.

But why does it still _hurt_ so badly?

That’s the problem about doing the right thing; Adora had followed a blind assumption that _because_ it was the right thing, everything would be alright in the end. That years from now, in a world recovering from the war, she’d be happy. Because she made the right choices, and when you make the right choices you end up at least _okay_ in the end.

It reminds her of the basics of training with the Horde:

_Train. Fight. Win. Reap the rewards._

Now with the Horde weakened, it seems that they’ve gotten closer to the third rung of that mantra. But with a victory looming over them, Adora can see that over the horizon that there isn’t the happiness she was expecting.

When she hears rustling in the woods behind her, she instinctively reaches for her sword. Eyes scanning the tree line, she rushes to her feet and prepares herself to strike.

She’s almost _too_ prepared—nearly taking Scorpia down when she trips over a tree branch and falls flat in front of her.

“Scorpia?” she asks, a bit baffled. How did _she_ know where Adora would be?

“Oh, Adora! There you are,” Scorpia wheezes, breathless when Adora hauls her up and onto her feet with one arm, “Everyone’s been looking for you! We figured you needed a quick ten minute breather but then that—errr kinda became a slow half hour? And then after an hour the meeting was basically over and you still hadn’t come back and we were all pretty worried…”

Adora releases her arm and sits herself back on the ground. “Well. You can tell them not to worry. I’m fine.”

“See, you sorta said that before,” Scorpia reminds her, “But then right after that you went AWOL. Kinda reminded me of that time you deserted the Horde and we were all like ‘Oh no, Adora!’. But then we were like—‘Hey, maybe she’ll come back’. But—well. You didn’t.”

Those words coming from anyone else might’ve been a jab at her, but Adora knows Scorpia well enough now to know that’s just how Scorpia is. Honest to a fault, blinded by an inability to read the room.

And her words don’t bring much comfort to Adora now. “Yeah. I didn’t.”

The hurt that’s been looming over Adora since returning from Beast Island feels uncontrollable and manifests itself into a form that feels more familiar: anger.

“And you know what, I get it. Okay?” That anger seeps into her tone, driving it but unable to mask the hollowness that lies beneath. Or the resignation behind her tired eyes; she doesn’t need to go over this _again_. She’s very much aware of the way everything went down. “I left. And you didn’t. And now Catra hates me.”

She tucks her head over the arm that’s draped across her knee—facing away from Scorpia. But, surprisingly, the other princess just takes a seat on the ground next to her.

Silence fills the space between them; it takes Scorpia a moment to find the words she wants to say.

“You know, I was always real jealous of you.”

Adora doesn’t know what to say to that. So Scorpia continues:

“I mean. You were always the best cadet in the Horde. And then when you left…the other Princesses just accepted you in a way they never really accepted me. But that wasn’t really why I was jealous. It was because of Catra.”

This isn’t news to Adora. She might be a little slow on the uptake, dense to her own feelings, but Scorpia wasn’t exactly subtle.

“No matter what I did, no matter how good of a friend I tried to be, I never came _close_ to you. I mean—I wanted to be Catra’s best friend because you guys made it look so easy,” Scorpia confesses, and Adora turns her head at that. “And she was so…well, y’know. After you left. I thought I could just…I don’t know. It sounds pretty crazy now. But I thought if I could be her new best friend, maybe she wouldn’t be so hurt anymore. But I never could pull her away from you.”

“ _Hah._ Yeah. Well, you don’t have to worry about that now. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“That’s not true,” Scorpia’s initial response is so immediate that Adora nearly believes her. “But my point is. I could never be you. And it used to make me feel like I wasn’t…good enough. But I know now that being me _is_ enough. And I’m not jealous of you anymore.”

“I can see why,” Adora mutters. Maybe Catra used to prefer Adora over everyone else, but those times have long since passed.

“My uhh--friendship with Catra is different than yours,” Scorpia points out, “But now, after coming here and meeting all of you guys I can see that’s a good thing. Honestly I think Catra needs us both.”

“Catra doesn’t want anything to do with me,” Adora repeats, “She’s never going to forgive me for leaving. And she said it herself: we’re never going to be friends again.”

Scorpia sighs at that, “You know…I love Catra. But _man_ does she know how to project.”

“Project?”

“Oh! Sorry—Perfuma taught me that one. It’s when someone takes their own fears and places them onto someone else.”

Adora squints at her, “Right. Okay. But what does that have to do with Catra?”

“Well, you know how you keep saying that you think she hates you and won’t ever forgive you and will never be your friend again?”

Adora doesn’t think that. She _knows_ it, now.

“D’you think that might be because…she’s afraid of the opposite happening?” Scorpia asks, voice gentle.

“I—that doesn’t make any sense.”

“I mean. It kind of does, doesn’t it? I think she knows now that she’s hurt you the most. And I think she’s afraid of what that means. That _you_ can’t forgive her for everything that’s happened. That you hate her now and won’t want to be friends again?”

“But all I ever do is try to talk to her! I try to help her, I went to Beast Island to save her—how could she think I hate her?” Adora asks, exasperated.

“Because she’s…Catra,” Scorpia says with a fond smile, “You can’t…push her towards something or she’ll just go in the opposite direction. If she feels like she doesn’t have a choice, she’ll only push back harder.”

Adora can admit that she has been… a bit pushy in her attempts to get Catra to understand. To make the choices Adora feels are right.

“Sometimes…you just have to let her come to you,” Scorpia suggests.

She takes a moment to process that. Anxiety had been driving her ambition to patch things up with Catra. Fearful that every additional second of unspoken truths between them would only make things harder to resolve later.

It wasn’t a totally unfounded fear. Adora almost watched her _die_ on Beast Island—before they even had a chance at talking things out.

But…Catra seems to be safe on Bright Moon. Bow was right, she hasn’t even tried to run away.

And with King Micah back, Bright Moon had never been stronger. They were still in the middle of a war, sure, but they were also in the middle of planning a celebration.

Now that they have some time—Adora can let Catra come to her. Even if she still isn’t fully convinced that will happen.

“Do you think things can ever go back to the way they were?” Adora asks, “You know. With Catra and I.”

“Oh. Jeez. That’s a tough one. I mean…you’ve both been through a lot. I think you’re both not the same people you were back then.”

“Right,” Adora nods solemnly.

“But, just because they’re _different_ doesn’t mean they won’t be better,” Scorpia smiles, reassuringly.

Adora supposes that might be true, too.

* * *

“The Horde is up to something. They have to be. They’ve been too quiet for way too long,” Catra speculates aloud in the nighttime air.

She’s been sitting up on the roof of the castle near a spire ever since the Rebellion meeting ended. After everyone scattered—either to look for Adora or to tend to other tasks, she suggested Scorpia look for her in the Whispering Woods.

It’s not because she felt guilty.

Because it’s not her fault that Adora ran out of the meeting with tears in her eyes. It couldn’t be. Catra has been way harsher to the other members of the Rebellion—ruthlessly shooting down half-thought plans with some sort of glee. And she’s said _far_ worse to Adora herself.

Not that it’s a bragging point, but she just knows better than to assume she means enough to Adora to get that strong of a reaction out of her.

So she didn’t feel any responsibility there. But she kept watch on top of the castle—waiting for the pair to return. And she stayed there long afterwards, just because it was a nice place to think.

Being near the spire meant that Micah also didn’t need to do any sort of strenuous climbing to get to her. He’s caught her on the roof more than once and—despite what he claims, Catra can tell it’s not easy for him to climb up here.

She knows he’ll look for her anyway—he’s stupid enough to go wherever he needs to go to find her. But she doesn’t want him to get _hurt_ doing so, and he can more easily walk up the staircase leading to the spire and climb out of the window.

It’s whatever. It doesn’t really inconvenience her to sit up here. The view isn’t any worse from this angle. She just doesn’t need him accidentally slipping and falling to his death on her conscience.

“I mean, it isn’t like Hordak to sit on his hands for so long. Blocking the path to Mystacor is nothing—it’s a petty move, at best. Just him letting you know that _he_ knows you’re back,” Catra continues, “Besides he’s hasn't even tried to expand the Horde’s territory and there hasn’t been a bot spotted in the Whispering Woods in over a week. He’s probably pulling back as many resources as he can so he can stock up on a covert attack. Probably on a village with the least amount of Rebellion aide right now.”

She could keep talking—keep theorizing on the reasons why Horde presence had been so minimal. Truthfully, she can’t come up with any that _feel_ right. She can only guess what her ulterior motives would be if she were the one redirecting Horde forces to tighten around the Fright Zone.

But Micah is just staring at her curiously.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” He shakes his head with a skeptical look on his face, “It’s just--I’m impressed.”

Catra sits up a bit straighter at that, surprise falling over her features. Her heart rises in her chest just a fraction. She knows this is the sort of thing that she’s always had a knack for, clearly, but it’s different to hear someone else say it.

Until he continues talking, “I mean…I’ve never seen someone use _battle strategy_ to completely avoid a question about their feelings before.”

“Ugh,” she should’ve known better, “Can you focus please? This is serious. The Horde has never been this silent. It can’t be a coincidence that this all started around the time you came back. They tried to kill you before and now that they know it didn’t work, who knows what they could be planning?”

Okay. So maybe she _does_ care about Micah. And might be a little worried about something happening to him.

“I know, I know,” He brushes her off, “We spent the whole afternoon going over this already.”

Which is true. They’d discussed it at length during the latter half of the Rebellion meeting. But they hadn’t landed on a solid plan,and Catra still hasn’t deciphered what the Horde was up to.

And if she couldn’t do that—couldn’t figure out what they were planning and stop them from getting to Micah or hurting anyone else, then what was the point of even having her here?

“Besides, I already told you. I don't know what’s up with Adora and I don’t care.” She defaults.

“Right. But I didn’t _ask_ about Adora. I asked how _you_ were feeling,” Micah reminds her.

Catra hadn’t even realized that she made the conversation about Adora, completely unprovoked.

“But since we’re on the subject…” he takes advantage of the opportunity before him. And that’s the problem with Angella and Micah. They’re _both_ such opportunists. It’s so irritating.

“Oh my god, are you serious?” Catra groans, throwing her head back to the sky. She doesn’t want to have this conversation. She doesn't even know what the conversation _is_ , but it can’t be good if he came into this talk with a hidden agenda.

She contemplates sliding off the roof. She’d easily land on her feet—but she isn’t so sure Micah would.

“Catra,” He says her name seriously, “You told me that you guys used to be best friends.”

“Yeah. _Used_ to be. Because I _used_ to think she cared about me,” Catra reminds him.

“You talked about her a lot actually on the Island. More than I think you realize…” She doesn’t know what he’s getting at here, so she turns her fiercest, most unimpressed glance at him. “— _Any_ way. I think it’s pretty clear she _does_ care about you.”

 _I don’t care what you think. You’re wrong_. The defenses sit at the top of her tongue. Sharpened and poised to swing, but she takes a breath. She considers his words. Counts to ten in her head. And then she says, “Yeah. I don’t buy that. And don’t---don’t try to bring up Beast Island as an example. That’s literally _just_ Adora being Adora. She saves everyone. She saved _Shadow Weaver_ , after all.”

 _And got me sent to Beast Island._ Catra knows that isn’t really fair—Adora had no way of knowing. It wasn’t the Rebellions grand scam to take her down by convincing Shadow Weaver to betray her. No—Shadow Weaver did that all on her own. Because Shadow Weaver is the one who never cared about her.

Her hands curl into fists at the thought.

“Well, I wasn’t here when that happened. But it didn’t seem like Adora really _wanted_ to. That old hag stalked her here and begged her to heal her. But you? Adora wanted to help you. After I told the others to head to the ship, she stayed behind to search for you. On the ship, she’s the one who—”

It’s hard to remember what exactly had happened after she ran away from Adora. Catra remembers acting foolish—carelessly attracting a pack of Pookas. She remembers getting thrown to the ground, headpiece being the only thing cushioning her head from a far worse fate than the minor concussion she sustained.

After that…it was just pieces of scattered consciousness until Scorpia woke her up on the ship. And even of the bits she could recall she wasn’t sure how much of it was actually real.

“So what?” Catra interrupts, wholly uninterested in reliving anymore memories of that day, “What’s your point?”

“My _point_ is if she didn’t care about you, why did she care so much about helping you?” Micah poses.

“It doesn’t matter.” None of it does. Not really.

“I know that she hurt you. And I know that you hurt her too,” Micah says—and that’s all it really is. An acknowledgement of the hurt. “But don’t you think you’re just punishing yourself at this point by pushing herself out of your life?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The denial comes easily to her.

But _oh_ does she know. She doesn’t like ignoring Adora. But now she just…can’t find the words. Her silence was so long, so sharp it pushed a great divide between them.

And even though Catra is the one who created it, she can’t seem to close it. It’s too difficult.

It’s much easier to talk to _literally_ anyone else. Even Glimmer—although that never ends well for either party.

It’s easier to look at anyone else. Even She-Ra. Because even though Catra has come to accept that She-Ra is part of Adora, Catra was never trying to hurt She-Ra. She tried to hurt Adora and, on more times than she could count, she had succeeded.

“I don’t…” Catra sighs, trying to explain how she feels. It’s complicated, a double edged sword. But Micah is patient and doesn’t rush her. “I don’t want to hurt her again.”

She isn’t sure if she ever _did_ want to hurt Adora in a major way. Superficially, she just wanted to prove herself. Prove she wasn’t just Adora’s shadow. Prove that she was _worth_ something, whether or not Adora was around.

And if that involved hurting Adora…Catra justified it and told herself it was fine. Because Adora hurt her first.

And maybe that was true, but Catra doesn’t believe that it’s fine anymore. The past can explain the present, but it doesn’t excuse it. 

Where she used to feel spite and rage, she just feels shame and regret. Even if Adora cared about her or forgave her, she wasn’t sure she deserved it.

But that was only one side of the sword. On the other, much more vulnerable side is something she can admit only right now. Only in this moment, when she has the nerve. Only to Micah, who she trusts the most.

“…And I don’t want her to hurt me again, either.”

It’s stupid and pathetic. It makes her feel like a whiny child. But she’s said it now. It’s out there.

“Hey,” Micah says, “Those are two _very_ fair things to want.”

The longer she stays in Bright Moon, the more she can understand why Adora stayed. But it doesn’t erase the hurt, and it doesn’t exactly imbue her with confidence that she won’t get hurt again.

“But, how are you ever going to know if you don’t try?” he asks and she snorts out a laugh at that. It has the be the _corniest,_ most-canned piece of advice he’s ever given her.

“Ridiculous,” she mumbles.

“You know, Angella and I—”

“Ugh. We get it,” Catra interjects, exasperated—like she’s speaking on behalf of more than one person, “You have the perfect relationship. You’re so in love with her. You missed her every day you were gone, blah blah blah.”

She lays down on the roof, all energy leaving her body as she throws an arm over her eyes. She doesn’t need to hear _this_ again. Doesn’t need Micah to draw parallels between two things that are so different that they’re incomparable.

“—We’ve made mistakes. We've hurt each other,” He admits, “You think it was so easy for me to come back to Bright Moon? That there was no hurt or pain between us?”

“What?” Catra asks, moving to rest on her elbows. She’s fully engaged in the conversation now. “But you—you tried so hard to get back to her. You never gave up.”

Something in his eyes flashes at that, but he quickly masks it. “I never told you how I wound up as prisoner to the Horde, did I?”

When she shakes her head, he explains, “Apparently, everyone thought Angella sent me into battle that day. But she didn’t. The exact opposite, actually. She knew the Horde had some sort of upper hand and asked me to stay with her in the Kingdom. But I knew that Shadow Weaver was behind it, I knew how dangerous she was. And I couldn’t let her hurt anyone else. It was a death march, but I didn’t…I _couldn’t_ see that. I was so angry and hurt that it clouded my judgement.”

“So when they requested for back up…I just left,” He confesses, “And I thought—I was so confident that I’d be back. But nearly two decades later and…”

He motions vaguely to the air in front of them.

“So you just…left her? Even after she asked you to stay?” Catra asks, processing what he’s just disclosed.

Micah nods solemnly, “I did. And I regretted it every day.”

Some time ago, that would’ve upset Catra. She would’ve lost her respect for him, pushed him away, told him he was a god damn idiot.

But she understands being blinded by anger. By Shadow Weaver.

“And it was hard to come back. Of course we missed each other—but I knew all of the pain was my fault. It was a hard pill to swallow,” He explains, “Even now, there are still times where it’s difficult.”

“But this…all of this is a chance I was worried I’d never have again. To be back in Bright Moon, with my wife and my baby girl. Now I know that any embarrassment or shame…I could never let it stop me from being with them. Life is just too short. And I already lost it all once, I’m never going to let it happen again.”

Catra isn’t sure if she ever had a true end-game in mind with Adora. She just wanted revenge. She wanted to _win_. As far as chances go, it wasn’t something she considered.

Even less so did she consider this to be another chance for them. It still feels too…out of reach. Unobtainable. There’s that great divide again.

But Micah and Angella crossed it, somehow. Maybe she could too.

It’s a lot to process. A bit too much, honestly. She can think it over later, try to tamp down the bit of hope that blooms in her chest.

But right now, she’ll put her master diversion skills to the test.

She coughs awkwardly, “So. Glimmer still not talking to you?”

He lets her get away with it. “Yeah. Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem like she wants much to do with Angie or I right now. Not since…”

“The Hair-tie Incident,” Catra recalls. By far one of her least favorite days on Bright Moon.

She has a pretty good guess at what Glimmer is most upset over. Aside from the crushing embarrassment of making a complete fool of herself, she must be feeling a bit rejected.

“ _I’m tired of this!” Glimmer shouted, “You two always defend her!”_

_Always was a funny word. Seeing as her and Angella had only just spoken complete sentences to each other like a day ago._

_“They’re not defending me,” Catra scoffed, “You were just wrong.”_

_Angella had politely explained that the hair band was a gift, making Catra shift uncomfortably._

_Glimmer ignored her, “I’m serious. It’s either_ her _or me.”_

 _Everyone fell silent at that, even the guards seemed to tense. Catra just crossed her arms and turned to the side—refusing to look at any of them. Glimmer is serious about this, no one was leaving the room until they made their choice._

_And Catra wondered what it would mean for her. Would she be fully treated as a prisoner now? Removed from Rebellion meetings? Forced to stay in her room all day? Or would she just become invisible to them?_

_She never even considered the possibility that they wouldn’t choose Glimmer._

_“Glimmer,” Angella’s voice was sharp, impatient. For a second, Catra thought that was the announcement of their choice, but that quickly faded when the queen continued, “Stop acting like a child.”_

_“We aren’t doing this. There’s no need for us to choose between either of you,” Micah shakes his head, disappointment clearly directed at his daughter._

_“Yes there is—”_

_“Glimmer, enough!” Micah stops her, thoroughly fed up with the nonsense that had begun the day they returned to Bright Moon. It’s obvious that in terms of scolding and reprimands, Angella has been around the block a few times with Glimmer. But this is the first time Micah has had to parent her in this way. “We aren’t playing this game with you.”_

_“Really?” Glimmer had bitten back tears, “So, you won’t choose?”_

_There’s a tense moment of silence in the room as they both shake their head in refusal. Catra decides she’s done with…whatever this is and turns out of the room._

_“Fine,” Glimmer yelled. “But just so you know, not making a choice_ is _a choice!”_

Catra feels uncomfortable by the way she’s inadvertently come between their family. She’s always had a penchant for mischief and instigating, but this isn’t something she ever intended.

So maybe that's why she sighs and says, “I’m sorry. Wish there was something I could do to help.”

The words feel foreign on her tongue, almost like they were involuntarily pulled out of her. But she primarily means it in the sense that it was so _obvious_ that there was never a “ _Glimmer vs Catra_ ” issue.

Catra feels that she’s made that quite clear by the… _everything_ about her. She’s abrasive, rude. Never really outwardly super nice or affectionate to either Micah or Angella.

Not like Glimmer, who yells “love you!” from across the courtyard. Who ‘s all rainbows and sparkles and kisses on cheeks and tight hugs.

Catra could never compare—was never _meant_ to compare because she isn’t their daughter. So yeah, Catra wishes there was something she could do in the sense of ‘how else can I possibly prove to your daughter I’m not a threat to her place in your life’?

But Micah has a different plan entirely.

“Well… _actually_ , there might be something.”

* * *

“What the hell is a three-tiered cake?”

“It’s in the name! And it’s not three it’s _thirty_. Didn’t they teach you how to read in the Horde?”

Three is a lot. But thirty? That’s _outrageous_.

This whole thing is outrageous. When Micah had asked Catra to help with baking _a_ cake for the celebration—she had incorrectly assumed it was a singular-circular-spongey thing.

Turns out it’s apparently _thirty_ circular-spongey things of different sizes. Stacked onto each other. With frosting—which was _not_ a thin layer of snow. It was a mix of sugar and food dye and honestly---not that great.

She had also incorrectly assumed she’d be handling this task _alone_. But after she had just finished going over the recipe list in the grand kitchen by herself, Glimmer had stomped in carrying flour and eggs. Catra quickly realized they’d both been tricked.

Well, she had been at least. Angella had more or less threatened Glimmer with a grounding if she didn’t help.

“Ugh,” Catra groans, eyeing the trays as Glimmer sets them out on the counter in size-order, “This is going to take _forever._ ”

“It’d go a lot quicker if you helped!” Glimmer snaps.

“I _am_ helping—”

“Misreading the directions _does not help!”_

“I am _supervising_ the situation,” Catra crosses her arms and leans back on her stool, tilting it slightly, “This says we’re supposed to decorate it? What—like a house? What are we supposed to decorate it _with_?”

“No, not like a house! We have to use icing! Sprinkles! Piping gel!” Glimmer lists off. When Catra just stares at her blankly, she says “Are you serious? You’ve never heard of this stuff?”

“Congratulations,” Catra deadpans, “You just made it into your first five seconds of forgetting I come from the freaking Horde. What a monumental achievement for you.”

“Oh trust me,” Glimmer scoffs, “No one could forget that!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you suck! Now help me measure this sugar.” Glimmer demands. Catra rolls her eyes but gets up anyway.

_Might as well get this over with._

“Sure thing princess,” Catra sighs, opening the bag on the counter before she sees Glimmer struggling to grab a bag of flour from the top shelf of the cabinet.

Having a few inches on Glimmer, she goes over to help her bring it down. “Can’t you just—teleport it down?”

“Ugh. I don’t need your help,” Glimmer shoves Catra away and she falls back into the island of the kitchen with an _oof._ Sadly for Glimmer, Catra had the bag half-gripped in her hand.

It’s in the world’s slowest motion that Catra watches the bag of flour fall open from its great height, emptying all of its contents over the kitchen—but also covering Glimmer in her entirety.

It’s…nothing short of _hilarious_. Catra quickly clasps her hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter, while Glimmer stands frozen in place, eyes wide in shock as she tries to process the fact she’s now coated in flour.

It gets harder and harder for Catra to hold back her laughter, especially when Glimmer tries to brush it off of herself and only succeeds in knocking the bag off of the counter, spilling even more of the powder onto her shoes.

“Is this why people love baking?” Catra asks between bouts of laughter, “Because I can definitely pick this up as a hobby— _agh!_ ”

She shrieks when Glimmer grabs her and teleports her into the mountain of flour that’s accumulated on the floor. She wrestles herself free of her grasp and throws a handful of flour at her, “What’s your problem? I was _trying_ to help!”

“ _You’re_ my problem!” Glimmer cries indignantly, hand grabbing the item closest to her—an egg that she doesn’t hesitate to hurl at Catra.

But she misses spectacularly, instead hitting the wall just behind her.

“ _Pfft_. That's was so pathetic,” Catra snickers, until— _splat_. The first egg was apparently just a warmup for Glimmer, because the second one nails her right on the side of her head.

Catra doesn’t hesitate to retaliate, grabbing the room-temperature melted butter and holding it above Glimmers head.

“Woah—woah—woah. Okay, wait,” Glimmer tries to back away, but Catra leaps onto the counter behind her and follows her movements. _Too easy_. “Maybe we should get back to baking this before—”

“ _Oops_ ,” Catra says in her fakest-sweet voice she can manage as she pours the contents of the bowl onto Glimmer, ensuring that the flour will only stick to her further.

“Ew!” Glimmer shrieks in disbelief, “I hate you!”

“Not crazy about you either, Sparkles,” Catra retorts, failing to avoid the third egg that Glimmer launches at her. She grabs a scoop of sugar using the measuring cup and throws it at her.

“I wish we left you on that _stupid_ island!” Glimmer blurts out, before she can think twice about it. Before Bow or Adora can act as her impulse control and stop her from saying something hurtful.

But Bow and Adora aren’t here. It’s just the two of them, and the regret registers on Glimmers face immediately. Her hand flies to her mouth with a shocked gasp, like she can’t believe she just said it herself.

And if it hadn’t caught Catra off guard, she would’ve been able to brush the comment off. Would’ve been able to mask the hurt on her face or deflect with a snide remark.

But it hits like a kick to the ribs, and it’s enough to get Catra to put the cup down and sink to the floor with her back to the counter.

“You think I want to be here?” Catra asks, tucking her knees to her chest. She’s surprised to find that there’s a voice in her mind that says, _Yeah, actually. I do want to be here._ “I know I don’t belong here.”

“Catra…” Glimmer says from above her, voice soft and remorseful.

“ I _wish_ you guys left me there,” She snaps—but the anger just isn’t there. “Better yet, I wish I never got banished in the first place. That way I could rule the Horde and still be kicking your ass.”

Glimmer sits down on the floor across from her, legs stretched out and back resting against the kitchen island. “We both know that’s a lie.”

“You sound just like your dad,” Catra scoffs.

Glimmer laughs at that, “Really?”

“Yeah. You both sound ridiculously annoying,” Catra rolls her eyes, but it’s only half-heartedly.

“I’m sorry,” Glimmer says after a beat. Catra looks up at her in surprise, “I didn’t mean what I said about Beast Island. It’s just—you make me _so_ mad sometimes.”

Catra doesn’t doubt that she’s sorry. But it feels like salt on an open wound, cementing the fact that she doesn’t really belong in Bright Moon.

“Like I said before, the feeling is mutual,” Catra sighs, looking down at her flour-covered hands.

“I mean, it’s always _Catra_ this and _Catra_ that,” Glimmer complains, and Catra has to laugh at that. “ _Did you hear Catra’s plan on how to reprogram any rogue Horde bots? Oh did you see that Catra is getting the hang of illusion spells?_ Like, yeah dad. We _all_ saw her use an illusion of a rat to freak out the guards, it was _during a Rebellion meeting!_ ”

“Really? Because it’s always _Glimmer_ this and _Glimmer_ that for me,” Catra counters, “He’s like. Stupidly proud of you.”

“I guess he’s stupidly proud of both of us,” Glimmer says with a soft smile.

Catra tries to ignore the implications of that, instead suggesting, “You should talk to him.”

“Yeah…” Glimmer agrees with a sigh, “I should, shouldn’t I? I was kind of a brat.”

“Kind of?”

“Okay—that’s enough criticism from the girl who’s too afraid to talk to _Adora_ ,” Glimmer smirks when Catra’s face drops at that. But it’s not like any of the other digs they’ve thrown at each other. There’s something soft, and well intentioned about it.

Or maybe it’s been a long day and Catra is just _really_ tired.

“I— _psh_ , what?” She sputters in response, “What are you talking about? I’m not _afraid!_ ”

“Yeah, okay,” Glimmer rolls her eyes, “ _She’s_ too dense to notice. But I see the way you look at her.”

“I look at her like an idiot! Because she’s an idiot!” Catra refutes, but it’s weak to even her own ears.

“Hmmm, if that’s true then why didn’t you _call_ her an idiot when she told us all that she thought artichokes were a type of fish last week?”

 _Because I only learned they weren’t a type of fish after she said that_ , is the honest response. But she certainly won’t admit that.

“Because I-I don’t think she wants me to call her an idiot in front of everyone,” she argues.

“Yeah, like that’s stopped you before!” Glimmer raises an eyebrow—and Catra is a _little_ uncomfortable with how well this girl can apparently read her. “Besides, I think she’d just be happy if you said _anything_ to her at this point.”

It’s better than the pained awkwardness from before. Now it’s almost like there’s some sort of…kinship between them. But still. Catra doesn’t love this.

“I—you, shut up!” Catra’s face is flushing red.

“ _Glimmer, why won’t Catra talk to me? Do you think she’ll ever talk to me? Why does she talk to everyone else?_ ” Glimmer imitates her best friend much like she imitated her father before, “Gee, Adora I don’t know! It’s not like _talking_ is either of your strong suits. If it was, maybe we wouldn’t be in a war right now!”

“Oh my god _please_ stop,” Catra begs but doesn’t deny. “Why do Adora and your dad sound _exactly_ the same?”

“I don’t know! I’m not trained in voice acting,” Glimmer shrugs.

“Fair.” Catra laughs just a little.

And there’s a pause of silence between them. It’s nice. Save for the fact that they’re _covered_ in cooking ingredients and are substantially further away from ever finishing this god damn cake.

Still. It feels good to rest for a second. Catra kind of doesn’t want the moment to end so soon.

So she acts on impulse. A _good_ impulse. Doing something nice because it feels right.

She reaches behind her head and pulls the hair tie out, her hair falling loosely behind her.

“Here,” she reaches across the floor at the halfway point between them and offers the bracelet. “This…you should have this. And you should really talk to your dad. He’s missed you for long enough, hasn’t he?”

Glimmer’s eyes flicker between the hair tie and Catra’s face—evaluating her. And because she’s just _too_ damn similar to Catra and equally as good as avoiding subjects she doesn't want to talk about, she says “Hasn’t Adora missed you for long enough, too?”

Catra’s about to open her mouth and tell her to _stop_ , but Glimmer reaches between them and grabs Catra’s hand—closing her palm around the hair tie. “And don’t be silly. I never wanted the hair tie. But… I _have_ always wanted to be a big sister!”

Glimmer says the last sentence with such glee and Catra is still stuck being confused at the way Glimmer gives her back the hair tie that it takes her a minute to process what she just said.

“Wait, what?” She asks, eyes widening and stomach swooping with surprise. It’s not a bad swoop—not one that’s followed with dread. But a sort of…lightness.

She only has a moment to let those words sink in before Glimmer is off the ground—lurching towards her and tackling her into a hug.

“Um—first of all _get off of me_!” Catra commands, struggling in her grip, but Glimmer’s hold doesn’t loosen, “Second of all _big_ sister? I’m pretty sure I’m older than you!”

“Big sister,” Glimmer confirms, squeezing Catra harder despite her shrieks, “Already called it!”

“That’s not a _thing_ you can call!”

They’re pulled from their banter when the sound of hurried footsteps enter the kitchen followed by a voice, “Hey! I think they’re in here!”

It’s _Bow_ , Catra realizes. Which must mean—

“I don't…What am I-what am I looking at here?” Adora’s voice is concerned. Tired.

“Oh my god,” His voice is closer now, surveying the damage in the kitchen. But he can’t see them from where they are on the floor. “They really did it. They actually killed each other.”

Silently, they snicker on the floor. Catra opens her mouth to let them know they, in fact, have not managed to kill each other. But instead Glimmer holds a finger in front of her mouth in a _shhh_ motion and whispers, “Watch this.”

And suddenly—Glimmer disappears, leaving a trail of sparkles and flour behind in her wake. Then Catra sees her reappear, just on top of a rafter above where Adora and Bow are standing, looking around the room in horror.

Catra snorts from her place on the floor, nearly giving her spot away until Glimmer launches herself down onto her best friends. They yelp as she crashes onto them both, laughing furiously.

“Agh! Glimmer!” Adora cries.

“ _Why_ would you do that?” Bow admonishes as they pull themselves up from the floor, “You scared us half to death! And speaking of death— _where_ is your sous-chef?”

“Sous-chef?” Catra scoffs when she rises from the floor—looking just as roughed up as Glimmer. “I am _so_ not her second in command!”

Bow and Adora look her over and Glimmer in alarm, They’re caked entirely in in flour, egg, sugar—basically everything that was supposed to go into the cakes they never got to making.

Although Glimmer _did_ manage to get a little bit of flour on the both of them in her attack.

“Catra?” The shock and confusion leave Adora’s mouth before her brain can remind her of what Scorpia said—to let Catra come to her first. But she was pretty sure that applied to ordinary situations. Not… _whatever_ this is.

But, like a tectonic plate has shifted, Catra giggles.

“Pretty sure this is not what King Micah asked for,” Bow says, looking over the now-covered recipe book. “Thirty-tiers? Oh god that’s a lot.”

“Yeah, but _now_ you guys are here to help!” Glimmer responds giddily.

“Uh, is that what we’re here for?” Bow eyes her skeptically. “Hey, what are you—”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish the sentence before Glimmer, now a pro at this, throws an egg at him. She squeals with joy when he puts the tracker pad down, grabs a handful of flour and says, “Okay. Just remember you wanted this.”

They’re so familiar with each other, it’s easy for Glimmer to drag Bow into her efforts to increase food waste in Bright Moon by 200%.

There’s a pause for the remaining two people in the room—uncomfortable only for them, as they look to each other, unsure of what to do.

It’s a kitchen island that stands between them now, and that feels a lot more manageable than a great divide. So Catra makes a choice—she hops on top of it and shifts over until she’s sitting in front of where Adora stands.

“Hey, Adora?” She smiles, hands behind her back.

Adora’s response to their sudden closeness is immediate—her eyes snapping to meet hers with unfettered hope and a slight red to her cheeks. “Yeah, Catra?.”

The hope quickly shifts into shock when Catra uses the moment to raise her hands above Adora’s head, cracking an egg and letting it fall onto her signature hair poof with a _splat_. But just a moment later, Adora is laughing—a sound Catra didn’t realize she missed so much until she heard it again.

“You are _so_ going to pay for that,” Adora warns before grabbing the bag of sugar.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” Catra challenges.

But—of course Adora does. And the four of them continue like that for some time, laughing and covering each other in various ingredients until they’re all collapsed in a spent heap in the middle of the floor.

Her head finds its way to Adora’s shoulder and Glimmer gives her that same smug and all-knowing look.

Catra can’t help but disagree with Bow. She thinks this might be _exactly_ what Micah asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only option for conflict resolution for two people who have nearly destroyed the world on separate occasions is through baking. sorry I don't make the rules :/


	5. a very thin line

They’re talking now. At least, more than they used to.

Never privately, never one on one. Only ever in group settings, where there are other people around to serve as some sort of emotional airbag in case the easy-going conversations ever crash into something heavier.

Catra knows this. She also knows that this is only a temporary solution. Like the chasm between them hasn’t been closed or lessened in the slightest, the only difference now is that there’s a very thin wire crossing the divided sides. They've been toeing across this wire in an intricate balancing act, careful to keep conversation light and gentle.

One harsh wind and it’s all over.

That’s not to say what they have is… _bad_. In fact, it’s almost too good to be true. The way they joke around with each other, will even sit next to each other during Rebellion meetings. When Seahawk or Scorpia get too caught up in some obscure and ultimately inconsequential point, Catra will even take a pencil and doodle on the side of Adora’s map.

Most of the time it’s a wildly unflattering stick figure that pokes fun at a fellow Rebellion member, but they never fail to make Adora laugh. Even if she has to erase them immediately after the meeting so no one catches wind of Catra’s mischief, it only leaves more space for her to do the exact same thing during the next meeting.

It’s reminiscent of their time together in the Horde. It’s what Adora had been hoping for since their return from Beast Island. And it’s great, the way they can handle being in each other’s presence without creating an uncomfortable air for everyone else in the room.

But it has its limits. Catra makes a point to make herself scarce whenever a crowd draws itself too thin—whenever it looks like it just might be her and Adora for even a two-minute walk back to their rooms.

And Catra will train and spar with just about anyone, almost to a fault. A strict rule for only using magic during these trainings has taken away Catra’s normal battlefield advantage—but Micah argues that she won’t get better at using magic if she relies too heavily on the sharp sting of her claws.

She won’t spar with Adora, though. Adora had lightheartedly bumped Catra with her shoulder one afternoon and asked, _“When are you and I ever going to train together? Or are you too scared?”_

Ordinarily, Catra would’ve pushed back—would’ve scoffed at her and offered to take her right then and there. She would’ve fired back her own retort or poked fun at Adora—but instead she just froze. Her eyes went wide and she spat out some half-excuse about how she’s not the one who comes up with the training rosters, Micah does.

Adora doesn't need to know that Catra specifically requested not to be paired with her.

“ _What’s the point?_ ” Catra remarked, falling back into her usual façade, “ _Everyone already knows I can kick your ass_.”

So it's a tightrope dance—whatever their friendship has become. Unspoken rules were established, namely by Catra:

  1. Never spend any time alone together.
  2. Never talk about anything serious together.
  3. Never spar together.



Adora and Catra are friends, quick to fall back into their playfully competitive banter and old jokes. But only so long as the rules are followed.

And it’s great. Better than it was. It was certainly more than what they feared they’d never have from each other again.

But, still, it wasn’t enough. That wire is going to snap eventually and if the divide between them doesn't close, they'll both face a long, treacherous fall to the bottom.

* * *

It’s only a few short days before the celebration of King Micah’s return to Bright Moon when all three of the rules are broken. 

Catra is, admittedly, in a bad mood. She’s been having migraines lately—ones that she never had experienced before being sent to Beast Island. She’s been writing it off in her mind as a consequence from a lack of sleep. She probably hasn’t been staying properly hydrated, either. Or eating enough.

But there’s a _lot_ that still needs to get done. A lot of things that need to be organized—people need to be directed on how to set up the courtyard appropriately. Guards need to be retrained and up to Catra’s standards for evaluating which guests can enter and which are clearly only there to cause problems. Seating had to be coordinated for the various events of the day, tents and food stands planned out in a way that made actual sense. Floral arrangements had to be rearranged after discovering Micah had developed some weird orchid-specific allergy.

The biggest difference between planning things in the Horde and planning things in Bright Moon was that now she actually had help.

Help that was actually useful to her-but even that thought is so harsh it makes her wince with guilt.

So she was supported, and that was nice. Great. Fantastic. Long overdue, even.

But the closer they get to the event, the more anxiety surmounts in her chest. Only because she still can’t get a good read on what the Horde has been up to. They gave up blocking the path to Mystacor fairly easily—or so she was told. She had to stay behind. Which personally, she still doesn’t agree with. But Micah was very insistent, something fiercely protective in his voice that she still doesn’t quite understand.

It’s not like she’s _Glimmer_. She’s…just herself. And she can’t stop thinking about the way Glimmer labeled herself as the ‘older sister’ with a twinge of annoyance.

But…there’s something else there too. Something she rejects entirely because she doesn’t understand it.

Glimmer had only asserted some sort of sisterhood between the two of them because…well, quite frankly, Catra is certain all of the sparkles and teleporting has scrambled her brain to some degree. But also, only because she was jealous that Micah and Angella were spending time with her and, for some reason, the label helped her cope with that fact.

Glimmer still just didn’t understand that Micah and Angella weren’t Catra’s parents. Sure, they were nice to her but who _weren’t_ these people nice to?

And _yes_ they saved Catra a spot at the dinner table. And maybe one time Angella showed her a secret part of the castle, one with a hidden staircase that led to the top of a tower that everyone assumed had been closed off. And she pointed out the lights in the distance, above the tree tops and named them as various Kingdoms and villages that Catra had previously only ever seen before on half-torn Horde maps. She might’ve even slipped Catra a key to the tower as they left.

But Angella would’ve done that for anyone who showed as much of an interest in the night sky or the geography of Etheria.

Maybe Micah spent a lot of time with her, practicing and training. But that was nothing new.

And sure, they’d been sending a healer to check on her every day since she reported having migraines. Angella kicked her out of a Rebellion meeting on a particularly bad day—like she could somehow just tell from the way Catra flinched at every noise or squinted as though the dimmed lights were still too bright. Micah walked her back to her room despite her protests and told her to get some rest.

She swore she wasn’t tired, but she’s certain Micah used _some_ type of magic because next thing she knew she was fast asleep in her bed. When she woke up, she found them both looking over her—eyes widening guiltily like they’d been caught hovering.

They presented her with some type of soup— _chicken noodle_ , she was told, that they had requested the chefs to make. Which, said a lot, seeing as none of the kitchen staff were too happy with Catra after the cake incident. They tried to clean up after themselves, of course, but neither herself nor Glimmer really knew just how far the extent of the damage from their food fight had gone.

It was _very_ nice of them. But it was something they would’ve done for anyone who was sick, not just Catra. And if they stuck around to made sure she ate food and drank water while speaking in hushed tones about what Catra had missed that day—it’s just because they wanted her to be filled in on the latest events.

Catra could admit she cared for both of them. Quite a bit. But she knew how these things tended to go; it was a one-sided sentiment. Of course they looked after her with extreme caution. She was an asset to them. They still needed her to help them beat the Horde. They hadn’t gone through all of that trouble at Beast Island for _nothing_.

As far as Catra was concerned, she owed them a debt. So of course they didn’t want anything bad to happen to her. They needed her to be healthy so they could receive their end of the bargain. And she was extra-valuable now with her newfound magic, so naturally they were going to be extra-cautious.

If they were nice to her above the bare minimum, it was just because they were nice people. Catra wasn’t special. Especially not to them.

That didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy the time she spent with either of them. She just couldn’t let herself get swept away in some stupid childish fantasy, couldn’t let herself enjoy their company too much. Couldn’t read too much into what Glimmer said and how she acted now. Or she might accidentally wind up letting herself believe that they kind of _were_ like her parents.

Because that’s impossible. Her _own_ parents didn’t even want her. Or if they did, they clearly couldn’t have been bothered to hold on to her. Protect her from falling into the hands of the Horde.

The hands of _Shadow Weaver_.

There was a time were Catra thought of her as a mother figure. It wasn’t a conscious thought, certainly not one she chose for herself. The feeling was a byproduct of never having a parent—of Shadow Weaver being the only authority figure to stick around in Catra’s life long enough to leave an impression. And…Catra knew well enough how that ended.

She’d never forget it.

So no, Angella and Micah weren’t like her parents. They didn’t want her for anything more than to make restitutions for her previous actions against Bright Moon.

And that’s fine. It’s fair. More than she deserved, to be frank. She’s suffered a lot worse consequences for far less dastardly actions. So she’ll take it.

She keeps telling herself it’s fine and that she’s fine. She just wishes people would stop asking if she was okay. Specifically, she wishes _Micah_ would stop asking. That’s how she winded up down this thought spiral in the first place.

She’s just in a bad mood, and every time Micah asks her if she’s okay it only reminds her of all that she can’t have. That any concern in his voice is imagined at worst and bare-minimum politeness at best.

This is how her day goes from bad to worse.

“Maybe you should take the rest of the day off,” He suggests after meeting with the rest of the royal court, just a slight variation in the configuration of the Alliance, to finalize some of the details for the celebration.

“I’m fine,” she grumbles, but the light that hits her eyes as soon as steps outside makes her flinch.

“Catra,” His voice is resolute. He steps in front of her and stops her from pressing on by placing a heavy hand on her shoulder.

It’s something he’s done many times. But today…she’s just _irritated_ today. And his hand falls a little too close to her neck. Too close to where invisible bruises that have never fully healed lie.

So she shoves his hand away a little harsher than intended, regret sinking in immediately as she refuses to look anywhere other than him.

“Come on,” He speaks even softer than before. Ever so patient with her. “You’ve been working so hard lately. You can’t overdo it kid—”

 _Kid_. And there it is, again. He’s always said it to her. But today it grates against her like sandpaper.

“Can you just back off?” Catra snaps. And it’s late, far too late for her to stop herself now. “Why do you even care so much? It’s not like you’re my dad!”

This has always been Catra’s skill, her strength. Long before her claws could be sharpened or her body trained to fight, she was an expert at using her words to hurt. Especially when she’s mad.

She’s never really regretted it either. Not until this moment, where she sees Micah’s face fall in front of her. She can practically hear his heart break at her words, a sad type of disappointment falling over his features.

She doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t understand why those words would even upset him—she was only addressing what had always laid unspoken between them. It makes her angry, because what right does _he_ have to be upset? He’s not the one who grew up without parents. He’s never known what it feels like to be unwanted by everyone. Abandoned by her parents, left behind by her best friend, kicked out of the Horde.

And still, because she’s foolishly let herself care about him, the hurt across his face only haunts her in return.

“Just leave me alone,” She demands before taking off, back inside, back in the direction they just came.

Thankfully, he doesn’t follow her. She tells herself this is a good thing. She tells herself to be glad. Not to worry that she’s broken anything, because there was nothing to break in the first place.

Going to Adora for comfort is a habit she’s mostly kicked by now. And by ‘mostly kicked’ she means opportunities to do so are scarce and, even when there is one, Catra has always thought better of it.

But right now, she’s the one who feels a little bit broken. A little defective, like something in her isn’t meant to be loved or have love. All she’s meant to do is hurt and be hurt. But she’s already hurt Adora, already done her worst.

Maybe that’s why when she sees Adora, walking by herself in the hallway and shoving down a muffin she’s decided to eat in one bite, she takes her by her hand and says, “Adora. Let’s go.”

“Wait. Me?” Adora asks, choking on the entirely too-dry muffin. She’s convinced the kitchen somehow makes them drier now as payback for the whole…cake thing.

“Yes, you. Who else?” Catra responds by tugging her wrist harder. Adora tries not to let her heart soar at those words— _you. Who else?_ and manage her expectations.

Catra _just_ needs someone to go approve of the design for the floral arrangements, just to the shop where the Whispering Woods borders Erelandia. And the only requirement for approval is that they don’t have orchids.

Adora can totally handle this.

“Got it! I won’t let you down,” She affirms eagerly. She’s been helping Catra out with odd jobs here and there in preparation for the celebration, but so has everyone else. Catra came to her and asked _her_ to do this. For once, Catra chose her. “I’ll be back before you know it. Come on, Swift Win—”

Suddenly, Catra’s face is just inches away from hers, her hand tightly clasped over Adora’s mouth. “ _Shhh_! Are you crazy? What are you doing?”

Adora’s eyes flicker from Catra’s hand to her eyes, a silent way of saying _I can’t explain myself with your hand over my mouth._ Up close, Adora can see that something is off with Catra. She knows she’s been having headaches lately, even relayed Catra’s favorite kind of soup to the King and Queen. She also looks exhausted.

Adora can’t help but feel a little worried.

“I’m, uh, calling my horse? So I can go do the thing you just asked me to do?” Adora answers once Catra pulls her hand away.

“Forget the horse. It’s not a bad walk,” Catra responds, “We don’t need him.”

_We?_

“Oh. We’re going together?” Adora asks, heart hammering in excitement, “Well, not like _together._ But you and I are both going. To approve them? Like at the same time?”

“Okay. Pretty sure we _both_ don’t need to approve the design but uh, yeah that was the plan. Kinda can’t leave here by myself,” Catra reminds her, face guarded.

And _oh_ that makes sense. It’s not that Catra is trusting Adora to do this small task. It’s that she wants Adora to come with her.

Which is actually about a thousand times better.

“Unless you’re busy. Or you don’t want to—” Catra already starts pulling away.

But Adora doesn’t let her. Instead she grabs her hand before it can slip away entirely and says, “Of course I want to, let’s do this!”

And now it’s Adora tugging Catra along, the latter scoffing and saying, “Alright, just don’t be weird about it.”

Regardless, Adora can hear the barely contained smile in Catra’s voice. It _is_ a big deal to Adora. The last time they did anything together that didn’t involve a battlefield was when they ‘borrowed’ the skiff right after Adora became a Force Captain.

Now the only rule they’re breaking is Catra’s weird, unspoken ‘never just us’ rule. And Adora has never been more giddy to break a rule before in her life.

Catra still has to wear a cloak whenever leaving Bright Moon. King Micah is really protective over her, but this doesn’t really surprise Adora. Not after seeing how protective Angella could be over Glimmer.

It doesn’t matter though, it’s not like anything bad will happen. Nothing bad could possibly happen. Because they have She-Ra, Catra has her own powers now and they’re just going on a harmless mission to sign off on some flowers.

* * *

With all of that in mind, Adora is genuinely stumped at how they’ve managed to find themselves at the bottom of a pit. A _really_ really deep pit, where the light from the sky above them looks like a small speck.

How did this even happen? One minute they’d been walking, Catra leading the way before stopping abruptly. Her migraine had increased in intensity and just as Adora was about to reach her hand out in comfort, the ground beneath them caved in, as though they’d been standing on it for too long.

The hole they’d fallen down was incredibly narrow, just enough arm space for the two of them.

Speaking of—one of them is handling their current predicament far better than the other. And that person is certainly not Catra, who is on her fifth attempt of scaling the side of the hole.

But it’s just too high, the earth around them doesn't have enough traction to hold on to.

“Okay, I don’t think that's working,” Adora points out when Catra slides back down to the bottom.

Frantically, she shakes her head and tries again, “No, no, no—this can’t be happening.”

“Catra!” Adora cries when she falls, only to immediately go for the wall again. Like she’s stuck in some loop.

“How are you so calm about this?” Catra rounds on her, pupils narrowed and voice pitched with panic.

Truthfully, it’s because Adora has been in far dire straits than some random hole in the ground. The odds have been stacked against her far worse and she’s always found a way out. Or her friends have been there to help.

But she isn’t sure sharing that information that will useful right now.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” She assures with an easy smile.

Catra isn’t buying it, “Can’t you like—I don’t know, She-Ra us out of this?”

Turning into She-Ra might make things worse right now, actually.

“Turn your sword into a lasso or something? Actually—no. Don’t. _Don’t_. What if you miss? It’s too far too reach, what if you try and the ground caves in? And then all of the dirt collapses around us and then we can’t _breathe_ and we die down here—”

Her breath is short as she explains, ranting with hands that shake. Adora realizes that this is much more real, much more severe for Catra. She’s never seen her look so terrified. It’s less than an ideal time for Adora to recognize that she’s never seen someone have a panic attack before.

“Catra,” Adora stops her pacing by placing her hands on the outside of her shoulders. “Listen to me: we’re going to be okay.”

Catra doesn’t push her away, not like she has much room to. “I—you don’t _know_ that.”

“I do. I’m not going to transform into She-Ra, alright?” Adora promises, but Catra looks only mildly comforted by that. “Besides, I don’t need to. Someone is going to notice we’re gone and they’ll come looking for us eventually.”

“Did you tell anyone we were leaving?” Catra asks.

“No. I thought you did,” Adora points out, “This was your idea.”

“I know it was!” Catra turns out of her grasp, “But I didn’t _tell_ anyone!”

“We aren’t that far from the castle, they’ll notice we’re gone and come loo—”

“They’ll notice _you’re_ gone,” Catra’s breath is stunted. Adora is genuinely worried she might pass out if she doesn't do something _soon_ , “And they’ll come looking for _you_. Because Micah basically hates me now because I was an asshole—”

“Woah, woah, what?” Adora is truly mystified by that—she doesn’t think Micah could hate anyone. Least of all Catra. “Micah doesn’t hate you—”

But it’s like Catra can’t even hear her, she’s begun pacing the small diameter of the pit. Racking her brain, Adora desperately tries to remember if Catra had ever been this freaked out by small spaces before.

In the Fright Zone, they’d hide in utility closets or in the narrow space between the wall and lines of storage boxes. But Catra had always been fine with it back then, most of the time it was her idea. Which means….

This has to be something like that oxygen deprivation tank Scorpia had been telling her about.

“—And then they’ll find you and help you out of this _death trap_ and then you’ll just leave me down here,” Catra continues on. But it’s not like any of her past accusations, it’s not dripping with spite and animosity. She says it like it’s a simple statement of fact. Like she’s seen into the future and knows it to be true.

Adora grabs her hands, trying to get her to focus on anything other than the winding thoughts in her head, “Hey, I’m not going to leave you here!”

“You expect me to believe that?” Catra snaps, eyes watery. “You left! Shadow Weaver—”

Adora can’t let her finish that sentence. Won’t let her. Thinking about Shadow Weaver is only going to make things worse right now. Adora just holds her hands tighter, “I’m _not_ Shadow Weaver. I never wanted to hurt you, and I don’t expect you to believe that. Or me, but I mean it.”

Catra looks to the ground until Adora tugs her hands and gets her to look her in the eyes, “I'm right here. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m never going to leave you again, alright? I promise you, we’ll get out of this together.”

And there goes the second rule about avoiding serious conversation.

But for once, it seems like Catra might actually believe Adora is earnest in what she says, or at least won’t argue with her. Her breaths are still ragged, uneven when she weakly removes her hands from Adora's and sits down on the ground.

Adora doesn’t hesitate to join her, sitting close enough that their shoulders brush. “I’m serious. You couldn’t get rid of me now, even if you tried.”

She sees Catra’s shoulders shake at that and for a horrified second, she fears she’s made her cry. But when Catra shakes her head with a small smile, relief courses through Adora and she’s struck with an idea.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Adora thinks she might know exactly what to do; what to say.

“I mean. Honestly. I found out Bow had been hiding some secret life from us with like. Eleven older brothers? And I’m still friends with him.”

“ _What?_ ” Her voice is raspy and strained, but at least she’s focused on something else.

“Psssh yeah. It was a whole thing. No one told you this?” Adora asks, “Glimmer and I had to pretend to be university students!”

Catra’s breath is still shallow, but has enough strength to at least scoff at that, “You? University?”

“Hey! I was a triple ma _jor_ ,” Adora emphasizes the latter half of the word. Pronouncing fancy things in that haughty tone was something she had actually developed with Catra when trying to read off the ingredient list on the back of their ration bars.

She doesn’t even have the time to wonder if Catra remembers those moments before she sees the light of recognition cross her face.

She’s laughing lightly when she retorts with, “Really? What, you expect me to believe you graduated summa cum lau _de_ , too?”

Despite being the inventor of the voice, Catra could always do it better than her. Adora can’t believe she almost let herself forget that.

* * *

Maybe Micah’s been coming on a bit too strong. But he’s just worried about her, fearful that Catra has too much on her plate right now between Rebellion meetings and party planning. They’ve lightened up on the training in the last few weeks, but still…

It feels like forever since it’s just been the two of them on Beast Island—so much has happened since then. But the reality is that it hasn’t been all that long, just a few months since they’ve returned to Bright Moon. He knows that has to be a lot of adjustment for her, going from a life spent living under the grueling order of the Fright Zone to living and building relationships with the people she was raised to hate. To destroy.

It’s a drastic change, but she’d been handling everything well so far. Aside from the migraines, which they’ve still got to figure out.

“I’m sure she’ll finally be able to relax once the celebration is over," Angella comforts from his side as they stroll through the courtyard together.

Normally Catra would be with them but he thought it might be best to give her some space. Well, Angella had been the one to remind him of that, actually. Typically, he was able to discern when Catra needed time to herself, differentiate when pushing her was a necessary evil and when it would only succeed in pushing her further away.

But…there was just something about the way she looked at him, when she told him he wasn’t her dad. Less a statement of fact and more of an accusation. Logically he knew, of course, Catra wasn’t _really_ his daughter but…it sort of felt like she was.

It’d felt like that since before they even returned to Bright Moon. The moment the Horde threw her off of their skiff and just left her on the shore of the Island… there was a type of protective outrage within him.

How could they treat anyone like that? Much less a child—and true, she wasn’t exactly a child, but she was too young to have her mistakes be forged into unforgivable sentences.

The way that they unceremoniously tossed her onto the island was barely scratching the surface of a lifetime suffered at the abusive hands of the Horde. The more he learned, the more he knew he needed to show her how wrong it all was—how she deserved far more than the hand that had been dealt to her.

Anyone who had gone through even a fraction of what Catra had was bound to have scars. Even he struggled with feelings of his own worth after _Light Spinner_. If he had felt more secured in his own abilities, his own confidence, he would’ve never felt the need to go to battle on the day that nearly sealed his fate.

Is it possible that Catra felt that he or Angella didn’t care about her? It couldn’t be, they’d always made a point to include her in everything they did, even before they had Glimmer on board.

But still…he’s seen how much she’s struggled to accept the fact that Adora, her lifelong best friend, still cared about her. That she was worth caring about.

It hurts him to see how deeply the scars run through her. To know they won’t fade overnight or over the course of a few months. Or to see how Catra continually underestimates just how much she means to everyone around her.

He feels helpless.

“Micah, dear,” Angella frets from beside him, pulling him from his thoughts with a gentle touch of her arm. “Surely, you must know she didn’t mean that.”

He sighs, letting her cup his face with comforting hands, “I know…I just wish I knew how to help her.”

She opens her mouth to stay something, but is cut off by the heavy footsteps of guards and a masked voice that is coated with a false layer of sweetness.

“Your majesties, how lovely it is to see you.”

Shadow Weaver is the last person he needs to see right now. That statement could be said at any time of the day or night and still be true—but it’s especially true right now. The source of all of the pain and suffering that he was powerless to stop—all of the hurt he’s unable to take away, is now standing in front of him.

“Good afternoon, Shadow Weaver,” Angie manages in her most polite voice. But when her hand falls from his face and interlaces with his own, her grip is stronger than usual.

“Where is your ward? It’s rather unlike her to not join your daily excursions around the property you’ve spent your entire lives on,” She asks with a slight tilt to her head, goading him, “Well, I should say _most_ of your lives.”

No one can get the best of his temper as quickly as Shadow Weaver can. Just hearing her ask about Catra without even using her name is enough to send a wave of hot anger through his blood.

He’s about to inform her that she’s taken the afternoon off, already more information than their prisoner is entitled to, but she interrupts him.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re only now just realizing what a lazy and useless waste of your resources she is?” Shadow Weaver turns her head to the side in question.

Reeling at the audacity this woman has, Micah pulls away from Angella but she won’t let his hand go, “I can’t possibly expect a heartless witch like yourself to be a good measure of how valuable any person is, but you’re wrong about her. You always have been.”

“Oh? Is that so?” She laughs in response, the guards that circle her tense at the sound. They’re unsure whether or not to intervene, but they haven’t been given commands by either the Queen nor the King. “You don’t think _I_ can see the worth in someone? I raised Adora, didn’t I? I brought you She-Ra, did I not?”

Angella has filled in Micah enough for him to know that whatever she’s saying is a twisted, fraction of the truth.

“I mentored them _both_. And look at how differently they’ve turned out to be. And it seems as though you’ve picked up Adora’s terrible habit of looking after street trash,” Shadow Weaver says flippantly. “I’ve tried to tell you so many times—all of your efforts on her are surely going to be wasted. Trust me, I have years of experience.”

“You listen to me—”

“Ah, but you’ve never quite enjoyed listening to me, have you Micah?” Shadow Weaver asks, voice dripping with condescension, “If you had, we wouldn’t be here right now. You’d know your efforts are best focused on Adora. Catra will only let you down—it’s all the wretched thing knows how to do.”

It’s wrong, so very and wildly incorrect. He knows this—everyone knows this. He knows Shadow Weaver herself must know this, it must be why she’s carefully extracted and chosen these words. Simply to get a rise out of him—to have someone else feel an ounce of the endless misery she wallows in every day.

If he were less of a patient man, he might have a snap response for that. But he’s learned the price for rushing into a battle against her without thinking it through first. Without taking a calming breath, stepping back and evaluating—

“That’s _enough_!” Angella snaps, voice thin with barely concealed anger. “You are not speak so ill against her in our presence—”

Knowing he isn’t alone in this unending crusade against Shadow Weaver or in his need to shield Catra from any further harm is the only thing that anchors him.

“Or else what? It isn’t treason if it isn’t someone of the royal family.” Shadow Weaver’s laugh is callous and cruel, “Or have you forgotten that as well?”

“Maybe so,” Unflinchingly and with an eerie sense of calmness, Angella approaches her, “But do not forget that while you are a prisoner on Bright Moon grounds, you are a prisoner to the Alliance as a whole. If you have taken such an issue to our _guest_ , then perhaps it’s time we transfer your holding to a different location. Somewhere a bit colder, with less gardening for you to do—like the Kingdom of Snows, perhaps?”

Shadow Weaver is certainly not keen on that idea. Micah watches in silent astonishment as his former mentor actually backs down, stepping back in the face of Angella.

The guards catch Angella’s pointed look and escort Shadow Weaver away. Her stare, heated and trained on the sorceress’ retreating form doesn’t falter—not even when Shadow Weaver turns her head around to give what Micah just _knows_ is a smug stare underneath the mask.

As soon as she departs, Micah and Angella startle when they see Glimmer and Frosta standing in her place—like they’d been hidden by the guards for the entirety of the less-than-pleasant exchange.

“What did she say about you?” Glimmer’s voice is hostile, ready to fight, “And what did she say about Catra?”

Frosta, imitating Glimmer’s fighting stance and snappish tone, “Yeah. No one messes with our little sister!”

“Our?!” Glimmer directs her shock down to Frosta, “Since when are you part of this?”

“Since always!”

“Catra is older than you!”

“She’s older than you too!”

“Yeah but I'm _wiser_ ,” Glimmer huffs, crossing her arms.

Angella and Micah exchange a silent stare—like they don’t dare dig into that claim.

“Girls, it’s alright,” Micah tries to placate, “We have it handled.”

“But she can’t—just talk about her like that!” Glimmer argues, lurching forward like she wants to pursue Shadow Weaver.

It technically isn’t treason, that much she was correct about. Not if the subject of the verbal rampage isn’t part of the royal family. But there were ways to work around that.

Blood isn’t the only thing that defines a family or bounds it together, after all.

Micah looks over to Angella—who’s already looking at him like she has the same idea. She always has been quicker than him. When their eyes meet, an automatic and easy smile breaks out across both of their faces.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” He asks, playful lilt to his voice.

“I thought of it first,” She returns just as easily.

“Ugh, _ew,_ if you’re going to be gross get a room please,” Glimmer scoffs from in front of them.

But before either of them can open their mouth to retaliate, Bow comes bounding across the courtyard like the world is on fire behind him.

“Guys! Guys,” He calls out as he approaches. Seeing him breathless, Glimmer easily disappears and reappears with him by her side, “Thanks, Glimmer— _phew_ , oh man.”

“What’s wrong, Bow?”

“Has anyone seen Adora? Or Catra? I’ve been looking everywhere since this morning and I haven’t been able to find them.”

Everyone freezes. This could _not_ be good, it wasn't like either of them to just disappear.

* * *

“I’m just…having a bad day. That’s all.”

Catra’s voice is much calmer and softer from the ground next to Adora. The panic has subsided, leaving her feeling exhausted more than anything else.

“Well, I don’t blame you,” Adora breathes out, “You’ve been working so hard lately.”

It sounds too much like a compliment, venturing far too close to a territory of praise.

“Yeah, like you’re one to talk, “ She scoffs, “Don’t think I didn’t notice how Bow had to practically carry you back to your room after the whole Mystacor thing.”

“Aww, you were worried about me?” Adora teases lightly. When Catra’s face reddens in response, visible enough in the ever-dimming light of the pit, she makes a point to add, “I’m serious, though. I’ve never seen you work so hard before.”

“Yeah, that’s because you left before you could see it. Did you forget I was basically running the Horde by myself?” The air shifts between them, Catra’s voice is defensive.

There hasn’t been this atmosphere of tension between them since that day in the library. The ever-thin wire that connects them tightens.

Adora is about to remind her that there’s no way she could possibly forget that—not when she’s got the scars to prove it, but Catra is quick to shift to the offense.

“You just never believed in me,” Catra states, “Just because I didn’t do things like you—I worked smarter, not harder, but all anyone could ever see was how _perfect_ you were.”

“That’s not true!” Adora argues, “I mean, yeah, you were smarter, but I always believed in you! It’s not my fault—I can’t-I couldn’t control what other people thought.”

“Yeah, well you were always the perfect cadet and I was the screw up who brought you down.” She stretches one of her legs out in front of her and focuses her gaze on the wall on the opposite side of them.

“Because Sha-- _they_ pitted us against each other! But it doesn’t have to be like that anymore. We don’t have to prove ourselves to anyone, anymore. We can just be us again, like how it was supposed to be.”

Adora’s hand twitches with the urge to reach out and touch Catra, but any ambiance from their earlier conversation has very much faded into the darkness of the cave.

“How it was supposed to be? What, before you broke your _own_ promise?” Catra snarks, shifting away from her, like she could almost tell how Adora wanted to close the space between them.

_Nothing really bad can happen as long as we have each other._

And how true that wound up being—how much pain they both had suffered since separating.

So much pain that it’s bled out of their separation and into their reunion.

“I’m sorry Catra,” Adora says earnestly, because she _is_. It was never her intent to break that promise, to hurt her best friend the most out of anyone in her life. She didn’t know that…all of this would happen. It doesn’t change anything, Adora knows that now. The damage is done, regardless of whether or not she wanted to inflict it.

There were a million things they could’ve both done differently. Small, infinitesimal choices along the pathway of their friendship that probably would’ve prevented them from ending up here: at the bottom of a narrow pit with an entire universe between them.

“Well, speak for yourself,” Catra continues and it takes Adora a moment to register what she’s talking about, “Maybe _you_ don’t have to prove yourself because you’re the great and mighty She-Ra—”

“Oh don’t act like you don’t _love_ She-Ra just as much as everyone else!” Adora accuses, unable to contain her hurt from the way Catra has warmed up to her hero persona before herself.

“What are you talking about?” Catra looks at her like she’s absolutely lost her mind.

And, well, maybe she has. Charging Catra with liking She-Ra more than her was laughable, at best. Or it would’ve been a few months ago.

“I’m talking about how you ignored _me_ for weeks but told Scorpia all about how great She-Ra is! And how arrogant you were about making sure that the Mystacor mission didn’t get _She-Ra_ hurt!”

Blinking slowly, Catra asks, “Did Scorpia tell you that?”

Almost like she’s hiding something, but if she is, Adora misses it entirely, “No! I heard you!”

“Okay well, I’m not ignoring you anymore, am I?” Catra asks, voice dripping with sarcasm, “We’re friends now or…whatever, so let’s just drop it.”

But Adora refuses, “I don’t want to go back to whatever it was we were doing before, Catra! Where it was like we were friends but not _really_.”

And Catra knows exactly what Adora is talking about, but refuses to meet her eye. Instead she’s staring harder at the other side of the wall that surrounds them.

“Like were friends and things were fine as long as other people were around or as long as we didn’t talk about the things we need to talk about!” Adora presses on, raising her voice when Catra stands up and walks over to the spot she’d been staring at.

“Shh,” Catra says, voice distracted as she evaluates…whatever it is further.

“Don’t _shhh_ me! I’m trying to tell you I don’t want that, I don’t want to walk on eggshells around you, I miss you!”

Catra freezes at that, ear twitching ever so slightly to indicate that she’s heard Adora. Slowly she turns around to face where Adora sits on the ground, face serious. There’s a quiet, looming anticipation in the air between them. Adora holds her breath, waiting for Catra to say anything when:

“I think there’s a tunnel here.”

“Are you serious?” Adora deadpans. She knew Catra didn’t want to have this conversation, that much has been made abundantly clear, but making up some fake way out of here—

With practiced ease, Catra draws a small flame with her hand, cautiously eyeing it as it grows just a bit in size. She can’t get too carried away, not when she still doesn’t feel one hundred percent confident in her powers. Not when Mermista isn’t here to put out any runaway flames.

With the added illumination, Adora can see that Catra isn’t making it up. There’s a long, seemingly unending, path that fades into darkness the further it spirals from Catra’s light. It’s so dark, it’s no wonder why they didn’t see it.

Thoughtlessly, Catra steps into the tunnel, like she’s intent on following it…wherever it may go. But before she can take another step, she turns around to Adora and offers a hand:

“Well. You coming or what, princess?”

Adora knows the safe choice, the smart choice, is to just stay where they are. Wait for someone to find them and pull them out—they’ll be much harder for anyone to pin down if they keep moving.

But Adora doesn’t want the safe choice. So she grabs a hold of Catra’s hand and lets the other pull her up and into the tunnel.

She doesn’t miss the soft smile that Catra sends her as she does, nor the way their hands linger near each other. Hovering, just within reach.

Once they make it a few feet inside, Catra notices something else—a set of torches that line the wall of the tunnel. It’s Adora’s turn to be amazed at how Catra takes a moment, closes her eyes and steadies herself before the walls of the tunnel are alight with her magic—turning the flames of the torches on as they pass.

“What?” Catra asks, voice defensive when she notices Adora staring at her.

“Oh—nothing,” Adora tries to play it off casually, like it isn’t a mesmerizing sight. “ Nothing-just, who knew the two junior Horde cadets would one day be…you know, magical, and stuff.”

“Ugh, no, do not rope me in with your little princess pals,” Catra scoffs in offense, “I can kind of do magic, but that doesn’t mean I’m one of you guys.”

“Catra. You’re literally _in_ the Princess Alliance,” Adora reminds her. Her voice grows in excitement as she connects the dots, “And you can do magic—you’re basically a Princess too!”

All the fire Catra could possibly summon wouldn’t compare to the brightness shining Adora’s eyes or her smile as she beams at Catra—overcome with the power of her realization.

“I am _not!_ ” Catra is so, so quick to deny, her voice pitched high like Adora couldn’t have said anything worse to her. “Take it back!”

Adora crosses her arms, smug smile on her face at Catra’s reaction, “Sorry princess, no can do.”

Her eyes are half-lidded as she raises her eyebrows, feeling incredibly victorious. The underlying question of, _how’s it feel?_ remains unsaid but widely felt.

That’s all it takes for Catra to pounce—literally. She tackles Adora and commands once again, “Take it back! I am _not_ a princess.”

But it’s not a genuine attack. Adora laughs the entire way down to the floor of the tunnel—she could easily push Catra off, her grip is so light on Adora’s shoulders. It’s so different from the last time they’ve physically interacted with each other—much different than their conversation in the wilds of Beast Island. It’s innocent, it’s fun, it’s playful, it’s rule number three: broken.

“Come on,” Adora giggles, she can tell Catra is amused too by the lazy flick of her tail. “You have to admit you’re basically a princess at this point.”

“I _totally_ am not,” Catra insists.

Adora holds up her hand, listing off items on her fingers, “In the Princess Alliance. Fire powers. Glimmer tells everyone you’re her younger sister—”

“She does _what?”_ Catra hisses.

And now is definitely not the right time to add fuel to that fire, but Adora does it anyway, “Oh yeah. You didn’t know? Frosta does too now, apparently.”

“Frosta?!” Catra asks—it’s half a question half an exclamation, it only makes Adora laugh harder. “Seriously, what is wrong with you people?”

Catra almost can’t believe that she’s the one who’s got Adora pinned down to the ground and yet she’s the one feeling attacked.

But, she realizes, it’s so much better to hear Adora laugh, to see her smile, smug or not, by the faint light around them—than to fight her, or mock her or try to _beat_ her.

She thinks she’d much rather prefer life this way—even if it means she’s somehow the younger sister of someone who is _much_ younger than she is.

“Besides, you’re basically Angella and Micah’s _daughter_ at this point,” Adora points out, still laughing.

But Catra’s face falls immediately, and just a moment too late does Adora recall her comment about how Micah hates her now.

“I…doubt that,” Catra says ruefully, dropping Adora’s hands and shifting her weight back so they both can sit up. “I was…kind of an asshole to him today.”

“What happened?” Adora asks, instinctively before remembering not to push, “I mean. If you want to tell me, you can. But only if you want to!”

“I don’t know,” Catra sighs, rubbing her arm self-consciously, “I just kind of…snapped at him. It’s stupid. But he just wouldn’t stop telling me that I need to take a break—or whatever. And I just don’t get why he cares so much!”

“Because he cares about you,” Adora says, simply—like it’s the easiest truth in the world to believe.

And maybe it is, for someone like Adora. Who everyone loves and cares about, at least from Catra’s perspective.

“Yeah. Right,” Catra rolls her eyes, “I’m just their prisoner. As long as I’m not fighting for the Horde, I’m not a threat.”

“Are you kidding me?” Adora asks, voice incredulous, “ You don’t seriously believe that, do you?”

Guilty as charged, Catra keeps her gaze fixed on the floor.

“I mean, hate to say it but you’re way closer to being a princess than you are to being a prisoner on Bright Moon.”

Part of her realizes that’s true—to some extent, anyway, because she actually laughs at that.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? Glimmer didn’t nearly explode with jealousy because he _doesn’t_ care about you. Ugh, you should’ve seen her when Angella started defending you too, she almost went through the roof.”

“I was there,” Catra reminds her.

“Okay,” Adora relents, “Then you have to know that Glimmer wasn’t like that for _no_ reason.”

“Yeah, she’s not going to win any awards for _sharing_ anytime soon.”

“My point is…whether you see it or not, he really does care about you,” _We all do_ , Adora wants to say but thinks better of it. “I’m sure he knows you didn’t mean it and he’ll forgive you. He could never hate you.”

“How are you so sure about that?” Catra asks, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

“Because…it’s you,” Adora says with a shy smile.

They’re only three words, but they say so much. The weight of them is almost too much. Catra has to tell herself not to read into them—beg herself to remain realistic.

But there’s something about the moment, something precious and poignant that she doesn’t want to break. So she stands, quietly, nervously, and helps Adora to her feet.

The blonde is looking at her like she can sense something is up—but she isn’t going to pry or prod. She won’t force it out of Catra, Catra has to do this all on her own.

She debates it for a moment more…weighing the risk before deciding Micah was right. She’ll never know until she tries.

“I…you know,” Catra’s voice is rough to her own ears, and this is not how she wanted it to go. So she clears her throat and takes a few seconds before trying again, “I missed you. Too. You know.”

That part was hard. But way easier than the words she still needs to say, to get off of her chest. She could leave them there, leave herself and Adora in the state of never knowing, but she doesn’t want to. Not anymore, not when Adora is so close and the only thing separating them is her damn self.

Adora is content with that much. More than content, actually. Elated. She’s about to grab Catra’s hand and return her comment with a playful joke, but Catra doesn’t let her:

“And…I’m sorry. For everything. For not coming with you. For fighting—for hurting you. And your friends—”

Once she starts apologizing, it’s like she can’t stop. The words have been sitting on her tongue for so long, held back by brick walls, that when they finally fall free, they tumble out of her mouth without grace.

But Adora doesn’t mind. The words could come out in half formed and mismatched sentences and she wouldn’t care. Because she knows Catra _means_ them. So she pulls Catra into a hug, holding her even tighter when she feels wet tears against her shirt.

“Hey,” Adora interrupts her stream of apologies, “It’s okay. I got you and I forgive you. I meant what I said, I’m never leaving you again. We have each other now—again.” 

Catra returns the embrace in kind, holding onto Adora like her life depends on it. “I forgive you, too.”

She thinks it could go unsaid. It’s implicit. But she just wants to make sure.

And they stay like that for some time, holding onto each other tightly. Neither of them wants to be the first one to break it.

“Okay,” Catra’s fishing for a way to end the hug without it being awkward—or worse, holding on for too long and having that be awkward too. “Can we just talk about the fact you thought I liked She-Ra more than _you_?”

She’s snickering as they pull back, but Adora’s face is reddened with embarrassment. “I mean, it’s—She-Ra. Everyone loves She-Ra.”

“Yeah but who the hell is She-Ra without you?” Catra points out as they start making their way through the tunnel again.

It’s easy for Adora to lose sight of herself and discredit her abilities—it’s easier to chalk everything up to She-Ra. She wouldn’t be able to do half of the things she’s done for the Rebellion if she weren’t She-Ra. But this leads to an unfortunate tie that binds her self-worth to the success of She-Ra, all the while never fully taking credit for the victories she helps orchestrate.

“It’s just…everyone only really knows me because I’m attached to She-Ra,” Adora bites her lip—unaware that her offhand comment would unearth a much larger insecurity. “Everyone except for you.”

Catra is the only one in Adora’s life who really knew her before she became She-Ra. And that’s why if She-Ra suddenly meant more to Catra than Adora did…it would crush her.

“ _Pfft_. Okay, sure. Maybe She-Ra is what got your foot in the door with these people, but they don’t stick around for her,” Catra scoffs with the same self-assured tone she used with Scorpia that day in the woods, “They stick around because they like you.” A pause, before she adds for clarity sake and punctuates with a poke to the arm,—“Adora.”

Maybe it’s true, maybe Adora can believe it—if it comes from Catra. What does Catra have to gain from lying to her? She spent so long trying to tear Adora down that it only makes what she’s saying now more potent.

“And me? Obviously I always liked you more than She-Ra. Y’know if the whole war, Battle of Bright Moon, me-constantly-trying-to-defeat-you thing, didn’t give that away,” Catra tries to joke, treading lightly until she sees Adora smile at the comment. Comforting Adora is a practiced skill—and it’s so rare for Adora to even indirectly admit she’s upset about something that Catra is extra careful to not mess this up. “I used to…blame She-Ra for everything that happened.”

“Used to?” Adora asks, so engrossed with their conversation that she doesn’t even realize the tunnel is coming to a close—a vast expanse of darkness ahead with the faint glow of blue lights.

It’s kind of ironic—she’s so fearful of people valuing She-Ra over her, it’s a relief to know Catra isn’t one of them…But it’s important to Adora that Catra at least… _accepts_ She-Ra.

“Yeah, well,” Catra looks away, uncomfortable with the question posed to her, “I don’t anymore. I guess She-Ra is pretty okay, too.”

“Awhh—”

“And that Rebellion meeting? I wasn’t worried about protecting She-Ra so much as the idiot attached to her—”

“Does that mean you _like_ me?” Adora teases.

Catra’s face is flat and unimpressed, “No! Ugh, if you’re going to be weird—”

“You just said you like me more than She-Ra!”

“I knew I should’ve just signed off on the flowers by myself,” Catra mutters, but there’s no truth to it.

Adora bumps into her again, “Just admit it—you _like_ me!”

And she’s giggling, so busy stumbling over herself as she laughs that she truly doesn’t notice the end of their walkway approaching. So caught up in teasing Catra that she stumbles forward, lurching into the darkness, half-fallen into it until Catra grabs her arm and pulls her back.

“Adora!” Catra hisses, “Be careful!”

“Worried about me?” Adora shoots back, merciless. She’s pulled closer to Catra like this, hand still tightly wrapped around her arm.

But Catra doesn’t falter, instead she says, “You know for the _great_ protector of Etheria, you suck at protecting yours— _woah.”_

She doesn’t finish her sentence, instead looking at the dark expanse behind Adora. Her eyes are blown wide in fascination, and Adora can’t turn around fast enough to see what exactly has caused this reaction.

And _woah_ …woah doesn’t even begin to cover it. Once Adora’s eyes adjust to the darkness, she can see it isn’t really that dark at all. There’s a manageable yet steep drop before them—definitely would’ve left a scar or two if Catra didn’t catch her. But below there is a massive cave—lit up and set aglow by a blue, bioluminescent material.

In the far corner, Adora can hear the distinct signs of a waterfall and watches in astonishment at the way the water, illuminated in the blue light runs down it. It feeds into a small pond, and there’s a larger lake of stagnant water taking up the center of the cave.

There’s foliage, dark green adorned with light pink flowers that are too far away to discern the exact nature of. Rocks and boulders with smooth, rounded edges line the cave. Some are grounded and stacked on top of each other, reflecting the bright, blue light of the lake. Others line all the way up to the top of the cave—where there are just enough holes to see in the equally vast and blue night time sky of Etheria.

Only then do either of them realize just how _long_ they’ve been gone. But they choose not to focus on that, instead centering on the sheer beauty of the sight before them. No map—either of Bright Moon or the Horde’s possession has _ever_ mentioned a place like this.

It’s serene—imbued with a powerful magic that brings peace and tranquility.

“What is this place?” Adora’s voice is thin and breathy with astonishment.

“No idea,” Catra shakes her head, “I’ve never heard anything about it. But it must be some…abandoned rune or something? Since there was a tunnel leading us right to it…”

It really is breathtaking. Not in an malevolent, destructive way—not in the meaning of breathless that Hordak had shown Catra. It’s lighthearted, full of wonder and awe. A way Catra didn’t know it was possible to feel.

Adora takes a seat on the ledge, overlooking the vast and enchanting display before them. Not without looking up to Catra and motioning her to join.

Catra does, sitting close enough for their arms to touch. “Wanna see something cool?”

“Cooler than this?” Adora asks, voice skeptical.

“Have a little faith,” Catra drawls before changing her tone, “Well, no promises actually. I don’t know if it’ll work—I only really tried it once before—”

Adora cuts off her rambling with a gentle smile and an encouraging hand on her arm. Catra closes her eyes, concentrating intently as she brings her hand forward and, accompanying it is another light orb of fire.

She sends it further in front of them, where it lingers and Adora watches, entranced as it grows in magnitude. Not fear, because she knows Catra has her magic far more under control than she realizes, but in quiet admiration. And then the flame splits off—dispersing smaller embers across the cavern, joining the magnificent sight of the blue lights. Adora can’t even count how many stay there, flickering in the air below them in a dazzling sight.

“Catra…” her voice is barely above a whisper, “This is… _beautiful_.”

Cautiously, Catra opens her eyes, one at a time. Using magic still makes her nervous—no matter how much training Micah puts her through, there’s still an uncomfortable element of winging it that she has yet to acquaint herself too. But Adora…isn’t wrong, and her shoulders sag in relief when she sees it’s worked out just how she envisioned it.

She’s about to open her mouth to agree, but she looks at Adora and all of the words die on her tongue. Not because the competing colors of blue and gold are reflecting against her, illuminating her—but because Adora is already looking at _her_. And she’s looking at her with even more astonishment as she had when they stumbled across the cave.

Her face heats red, unsure of what to do—especially when she feels Adora’s hand move on top of hers, still looking at her with complete reverence.

“Beats the library, right?” Is all Catra can think to say—but Adora smiles regardless, eventually pulling her gaze back over the cavern.

“Yeah,” she says, voice still quiet. But she pulls Catra closer, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Catra complies, following the movement and leaning on Adora’s shoulder. It’s comfortable and warm—filling her with a lightness that the reflective cave below can’t even begin to compete with.

It’s been a long day, but not so bad after all.

Not anymore.

Still, days of piled up exhaustion seem to hit her all at once. If her eyes flicker shut and she gets a few moments of rest—here, with Adora, where it’s safe, is that really so wrong?

Adora certainly doesn’t mind the warmth of Catra’s body against hers, or the sight of the embers as they slowly burn out in time with Catra’s breath evening out.

* * *

Over the course of the night, they’ve somehow shifted so their backs are supported by the wall of the cave. Catra says _somehow_ , but she firmly suspects Adora had carried her—lifting her with nearly no effort.

When the daylight breaks through the walls of the cave, they’re still cuddled close together. Catra resting against Adora’s chest with Adora’s arms encircling her.

But it isn’t the daylight or the relieved voice of Bow saying, “Over here Glimmer! I found them!” that wakes Catra up. Nor does his elated gushing about the sight before him.

“Please tell me you brought a camera,” He requests and Glimmer just snickers next to him. “Oh my god, why _didn’t_ we bring Entrapta? She could probably just—make a camera out of a rock, or something. Glimmer, can you teleport to Bright Moon and get my camera?”

“I did not walk _all_ the way here just to teleport back to Bright Moon without them, Bow!” Glimmer refutes.

Bow knows his plea is desperate, but he can’t _help_ it. How was he supposed to know Catra would look so cute curled up next to Adora? Or that his best friend could ever look so peaceful, sleeping soundly?

Adora could never relax on a good day and fitful nights of sleep were just commonplace at this point.

But...clearly not today. Which is why the moment is so special and _needs_ to be captured.

Glimmer hands Bow a tracker pad, and he furiously unlocks it to open up the camera.

While Catra is still asleep, the commotion definitely wakes up Adora—with the final straw being the shuttering sound effect of the camera.

“Huh—what? What’s happening?” She says, jostling with great might and unsheathing the sword.

Catra startles at that—still half asleep and now incredibly _grumpy_ as she moves away and yells, “Adora!”

But Adora is even less coherent than Catra. She feels Catra’s absence and assumes it’s a call for help, “Catra? Hang on, I’m coming—for the Honor of—!”

“Oh no,” Bow winces—bracing himself for the brightening effect of She-Ra.

Glimmer acts quickly, grabbing a hold of both Catra and Adora and teleporting them back outside—onto the ground of the Whispering Woods. And they’ve spent so long underground that the daylight quite honestly burns.

“Ugh, God—make it stop,” Catra grouses. Thankfully, Glimmer was able to stop She-Ra’s transformation, and effortlessly teleports back for Bow. 

Swift Wind is waiting for them and don’t even bother to try to conceal the relief he feels in seeing that they’re okay.

And the journey back to Bright Moon from there isn’t too far. It turns out that following the cave—the Ivy Runes, as Bow points out, actually did bring them closer to Bright Moon.

They all chat with an excited energy, sharing how worried they were, and how they needed to use Swift Wind to locate Adora—banking on the fact that Catra would be with her.

Catra falls to the back of the group as they walk. Everyone seemed just as thankful to have found her as they do Adora—which stumps her. She might’ve expected as much from Scorpia, but she didn’t realize how close she’d gotten with everyone else.

And she doesn’t know how to feel about that.

She still doesn’t even know where to begin processing _everything_ that happened yesterday. Between breaking all of her Adora rules, to actually forgiving and be forgiven by Adora—and then the whole _cave_ thing and Micah…

 _Shit_. With a cold anxiety in her stomach, she nearly forgot she’d have to face Micah again.

“Hey,” Adora notices her silence—the way she pulls back from everyone else, “You okay?”

Catra just gives her a sad smile. “Yeah. I’m fine. I just realized—we never actually approved of the flower design—”

It’s technically not a lie, but she doesn’t know how to tell Adora what she’s _really_ upset about. Without feeling selfish.

“Already on it!” Bow says, picking up on their conversation. “Don’t worry about it, Catra.”

And, like somehow just saying her name reminded Glimmer of her very existence, Glimmer teleports herself on top of Catra, “Yeah, don’t worry about it _sis_! We got you covered. But good luck getting to leave your room anytime soon.”

Glimmer is beaming, knowing how badly _sis_ or any variation of the word sister gets under Catra’s skin. She shoves her away, grumbling but…fair. She supposes she must be in deep shit for running off without warning and then disappearing for an entire day.

She wasn’t told she has to ask permission to leave Bright Moon—but she knows there’s an expectation there.

Micah is going to be so _pissed_. Her stomach twists with dread at the thought. Between how she spoke to him yesterday and now this—she really is going to be a prisoner now. And it’s her own fault.

Never mind Angella. She must’ve realized by now that Catra is incapable of handling any sort of responsibility without messing it up—

“Yeah,” Bow agrees, “They were really worried about you guys. Never do that again! At least, leave us a note or something!”

Catra just hopes that no one is mad at Adora—that whatever…progress they made isn’t thrown away now that Catra’s gotten her into trouble. Adora always hated getting into trouble back in the Horde.

Adora seems unconcerned, relaxed, even. Catra studies her carefully, but she reads no signs of anxiety in her former best friend—current friend? Were they best friends again now?

Adora catches her staring, grabbing her hand and standing still. The rest of the group proceeds, but she says, “Is it weird that I…kind of don’t want it to be over?”

And it isn’t—because it’s the very thing that Catra wanted too. She just didn’t have the courage to say it.

“I mean—I know, being stuck underground wasn’t y’know, great. But…I don’t know. I guess I liked spending time with you?”

“Wow, you sure know how to flatter a girl,” Catra deflects—her mind is too busy spiraling about her other concerns to properly respond.

“I’m serious,” Adora says, voice genuine and gaze hardened, “I meant what I said. I don’t want things to go back to the way they were before…well, yesterday.”

Catra softens at that. She won’t let Adora be vulnerable only to shoot her down—never again. “I know what you mean. And i’s not weird...I feel the same way.”

Adora’s grip on her hand tightens, “Then…let’s just. Keep moving forward?”

Her voice—her eyes are too hopeful. Too promising. Clearly, Adora doesn’t get what’s going on here. Or what’s about to happen when they return.

But Catra smiles and agrees, squeezing her hand back as they walk through the palace gates.

The last shreds of peace from the previous night are permanently sealed away when Scorpia’s voice cries out, “Wildcat!”

And Catra has all of five seconds to prepare herself before being scooped up into a hug.

“Oh thank god you’re okay! We were all so worried about you! Nobody knew where you went!” Scorpia’s voice is a joyful rush of words, mashing together as she squeezes Catra even tighter.

Catra had come to expect that much from Scorpia, but she’s surprised when she feels someone else join the hug. “Catra!,” comes Frosta’s voice from the other side, “You should’ve seen how worried Glimmer was!”

“Me?” Glimmer scoffs, “You were more worried than I was—”

“Not true—”

“Okay, well, what’s all this I keep hearing about you being the older sister?” Catra pulls back from the hug, placing her hands on her hips and trying her best to muster a displeased stare. “How do you people even decide things here? Nothing makes sense!”

But she doesn’t hear Glimmer or Frosta’s response to that—out of the corner of her eye, she can see Angella greeting Adora with a hug, before pulling back with a stern look on her face. She knows she has to act quick, before Adora tries to take the fall for both of them.

“…absolutely besides ourselves with worry. This was incredibly irresponsible. And where is Catra?—” Catra just catches the end of Angella’s speech.

“Wait! It’s not Adora’s fault,” Catra interrupts, “She didn’t do anything, alright? It was my idea to go—I just dragged her along with me. And yeah we should’ve told someone—but that was my fault. So don’t take it out on her.”

She knows what comes next. Prepares herself for the feeling of being constricted by magic, the humiliation that’s sure to follow being reprimanded in front of people who aren’t just Adora. Swallowing her fear, she looks from Angella to Micah—imploring them to believe her. No matter how mad they are with her, she hopes they can still listen. Trust her enough not to drag Adora down too.

They stare at her-mouths agape in silent surprise for the longest second of Catra’s life. Micah and Angella both look like they haven’t slept all night—dark circles fallen under their eyes. They probably haven’t, from what Bow was saying it sounded like everyone had been searching ever since yesterday morning. It took Swift Wind forever to locate Adora because she was underground.

She feels guilty—knowing how much Adora means to them. It’s all just affirmation that she’s so totally screwed for whatever is about to come next. She braces herself, muscles tense when something else washes over their features entirely.

Catra doesn’t have time to process whatever it is, because next thing she knows she’s being swept up and sandwiched in between them. Reflexively, she stiffens at the contact before realizing they’re _hugging_ her.

“Catra!” She registers his voice first, a long exhale of relief, “Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Angella’s voice isn’t far behind, “You had us worried sick! Never, ever do that again—”

“—have you been having any of the migraines? Being stuck underground can’t help—”

“—The rest of the Rebellion will pick up your responsibilities for party planning, we’ll have the healers take a look at you and then you’re going to be resting until the celebration!”

“And after that we’ll all be taking a trip to Mystacor—maybe we can figure out something to help with the migraines. But no more training for the rest of the week!”

“Ah—woah. Okay. What?” Catra squirms out of their grasp. She’s very much awake now, but is having difficulty sifting through the mess of worried words that come from both of them.

“Are you okay?” Micah grabs her hands but doesn’t hug her again—sensing that isn’t what Catra wants right now. Angella looks her over for any sign of injury, fretting as Micah continues, “Are you feeling alright now? Do you need to lay—”

“Hold up—I’m, I’m fine! I’m okay,” She says, but she’s unable to see past her own confusion, “I don’t…I don’t understand. You’re not like…mad?”

“Mad?” Micah repeats back to her, and the rest of the group behind them senses this is more of a private conversation and dissipates quickly. He exchanges a worried glance with Angella.

Glimmer walks by with Bow and Adora, silently mouthing, “ _Grounded!”_

Catra ignores her.

“Yeah,” she says, swallowing thickly and praying she doesn't have to explain to them _why_ they should be mad. That’s almost just as humiliating. “Thought you’d be like. Super pissed, or whatever.”

“Oh, dear, no,” Angella’s gently frames Catra’s face with her hands, looking at her with brimming sincerity. She hates the way she flinches at that contact—beginning to think her assumption about their reaction was incorrect, but still unable to chase the ghost of a much crueler parent figure.

She reminds herself of that day in her bedroom—how kind Angella was to her then. Even after almost setting the castle on fire, and rationalizes Angella probably won’t hurt her now.

“We were just so worried about you. We didn’t know where you went, and you’ve been working yourself so hard lately we feared something happened to you.”

“We hoped you were at least with Adora,” Micah chimes in, leaning next to Angella, “But if you weren’t, we were going to have to use a location spell, but those aren’t always super reliable and we just didn’t know if you were okay.”

Before Catra and Adora returned, they knew their approach to this would have to be different than it would be for Glimmer. Glimmer knew better, knew their actions always stemmed from a place of love. But any threat of a stern, disciplinary action wouldn’t go over well with Catra. They knew they’d have to be more gentle if they wanted Catra to see where they’re coming from, to understand their fear.

“And with us still not knowing how much the Horde knows about you,” Micah shakes his head, voice choked with emotion. “We just…we were so worried something really bad happened to you, and we couldn’t be there or find you to help you.”

Angella looks like she’s close to crying too. And it makes sense, the Horde took her husband before. The Horde took her daughter, too. They wouldn’t hesitate to take Catra. 

And all Micah could do was replay that night on Beast Island—the horrific feeling of finding Catra near death and almost entirely given up. He’d gotten there just in time, but what if he wasn’t so lucky in the future?

“I don’t—I’m…sorry,” Catra tries to say, feeling ashamed and guilt-ridden. But she’s still just…so caught off-guard by their reaction—she thought they’d just be worried about Adora. She never wanted to upset them. She doesn’t even realize that there are tears in her eyes—driven by emotions she can’t quite process, until they’re fallen, “I didn’t mean to make you guys worry.”

“It’s okay,” Micah’s eyes are warm, forgiving.

“We know you didn’t do it on purpose,” Angella supplies and there it is—that implicit trust. The faith they have in her. She made a mistake—but somehow it’s not the end of the world. The universe isn’t collapsing—she isn’t about to be banished over a mistake. Angella swipes away a tear with her thumb, comfortingly. “We just care about you and can’t bear to see anything happen to you.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Catra blurts out, too overcome with emotion, “What I said. Yesterday. I was just…I don’t know. I guess I’m not used to…this stuff. Having people care so much. It’s a lot, sometimes. But I didn't mean it.”

Angella sends Micah with a knowing look.

“I know you didn’t,” Micah affirms, “And it’s okay. I should’ve been more respectful of your space.”

The only thing weirder, in Catra’s opinion, than having someone older than her forgive her mistake is having them also admit fault. She doesn’t know what to say to that, So she just nods, and Angella pulls back.

Catra sighs—uncertain what to do with the silence between the three of them now before muttering, “I guess…if you guys _really_ want a hug, or whatever—we can do it… but just this _once.”_

She barely has time to finish the sentence before they’re both wrapping her arms around her, holding tightly. Securely. It’s nice.

Until:

“Oh, but just because we’re not mad, doesn’t mean we weren’t serious about the bed rest.”

“Ugh,” Catra groans, pretending to be thankful when they release her, “Are you serious? I feel _fine_ , better than yesterday—”

“ _Very_ serious. If you feel up for it, though, maybe Swift Wind can sit at your bedside and go over seating arrangements?” Angella offers, knowing what the response will be.

“…and just like that I have a migraine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, internally, every week: this has been my favorite chapter to write !!  
> me, this week: ok i really mean it this time 
> 
> i'm always blown away by the comments+love this story gets, so i hope you all enjoy!! 
> 
> i also have a tumblr that i use to further myself down the spop rabbit hole, if you want to check it out!: https://adorn1ng.tumblr.com/


	6. so many signs

“Do you think if I ask Glimmer to the celebration, she’ll say yes?”

The question catches Adora off guard. She’s pretty sure they were just talking about Bow and Entrapta’s latest progress with making upgrades to Emily, and doesn’t quite get why he’s pivoted the conversation so abruptly.

“Um…I’m pretty sure she has to?” Adora ventures, “Seeing as…the celebration is happening…in her own backyard?”

Unless, there’s been some last minute change to the venue. Which would be really, really, _really_ bad. Catra’s been fighting bedrest tooth and nail since they’ve come back and such a drastic change is not going to help her get the rest she needs.

“No, no-not like that. I mean, I know Glimmer is obviously going because it’s her dad,” Bow explains patiently, “I just meant if she’ll go with me.”

“We were all probably going to walk down the stairs together?” Adora guesses, completely oblivious as to what Bow is so concerned about. Of course Glimmer was going to go with them, why wouldn’t she? They did everything together, that was their _thing_.

“Adora, no,” Bow sighs, “Remember Princess Prom?”

“Uh, yeah,” She replies with a wince. Princess Prom and all of the events following it were kind of hard to forget.

“Remember how Perfuma asked me to go with her?” He asks, and when Adora nods he continues, “Right…so, I want to ask Glimmer to the celebration. Like how Perfuma asked me to go to Princess Prom.”

“Is there going to be another Princess Prom? Isn’t there supposed to be one like, every year?”

“Adora, focus.”

“Right, right, right. You definitely should, we don’t want a repeat of last time.”

They didn’t need a repeat of any part of Princess Prom, that’s for sure.

But she must still not be getting the true gist of what Bow is saying, because he grumbles and runs his hand down his face. “No, I don’t want to ask her just so she won’t be upset if I go with someone else!”

“Who…else would you go with?” Adora wonders. She doubts Perfuma will ask him again, she’s been spending so much time with Scorpia. Unless…Scorpia is going with Catra like how they had at the prom? What was with that, anyway? She never got clarification—then she notices Bow is looking at her, flat and unimpressed, “Um. I mean. Why do you want to ask her?”

“Because…” Bow looks around like he’s about to tell her a secret, “I _like_ her.”

“So…? We all like Glimmer. I’m pretty sure even Catra likes Glimmer now,” Adora tries not to laugh. Catra made her lack of a grounding a pretty big bragging point whenever she was allowed out of her room for meals or light planning activities. And, needless to say, Glimmer was none too thrilled. 

Bow can normally tolerate Adora’s cluelessness when it comes to social events or anything that could be described as even remotely fun. It only serves to remind him of the stark contrast in their upbringings, but today he doesn’t have the patience. He's pretty confident that Glimmer will say yes and this isn’t even the true point of their conversation. The real goal was to steer Adora out of her obliviousness, not dig her further into it.

“Adora. How do you think Queen Angella and King Micah got married? Or Spinnerella and Netossa?”

“...a formal ceremony…?”

“No! Well, okay—technically speaking, yes,” This would be so funny if it weren’t happening to him. It’s like trying to explain friendship to Entrapta, “I mean like. You know they didn’t just…meet each other and get married right away. Right?”

Adora’s face flushes at that and she laughs nervously, “Yeah. Obviously. I didn’t assume they just magically appeared on Etheria one day holding hands, or whatever...”

“Okay well, before you get married…you have to date someone. Someone that you like.” Bow explains, hoping this time it’ll resonate.

“Oh- _ohhh_ ,” The wheels finally click for Adora, but so much so that she skips over the original point of his question, “Wait—you want to marry Glimmer?”

Her voice raises as she gets to the latter half of the question. His eyes widen comically, worried they’ll attract attention—even more so worried that Glimmer will just appear in the middle of their conversation.

“Will you lower your voice?” He asks, voice cracking, “I mean, that’s getting way too ahead of ourselves! I just want to go on a date with her!”

“Why?”

Exasperation almost tangible in his tone, he says, “Because. I _like_ her. In a way that’s different from my other friends! Yes we all like Glimmer, and I like you too. But does that mean I could marry you?”

After he speaks there’s a moment of silence between them. A long, awkward pause as they look over each other nervously. And then, simultaneously, they both burst into laughter because…

 _Wow._ Them? Married—Adora could never. Bow could never. _They_ could never. It’s so affable that all they can do is laugh.

“Hah,” Adora sighs, wiping a tear from her eye, “Good one Bow.”

“See what I mean?” Bow says, gesturing to the two of them. “It’s _different_. You’re one of my best friends, but there’s something…y’know. More. With Glimmer.”

That gives Adora pause. She tries to consider it—tries to consider Glimmer from Bow’s perspective. It makes sense, they’ve known each other their whole lives.

“Look, Bow,” Adora offers him a small smile, still trying to puzzle it out in her head, “I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

It’s the truth. Adora remembers back when she was positive Catra hated her. How much it hurt to see everyone else have their own person, their favorite person—and she’s pretty sure Bow is Glimmer’s favorite person. Like, with 99.99% certainty.

“Really? You think so?” he tries to play it cool—but even he fears about the .01% probability of rejection. “Cool—so I should probably get her flowers, or something right?”

“Flowers? Hm, yeah,” Adora nods slightly in agreement, but she’s distracted and doesn't even bother to hide it.

 _Something more._ She thinks about it—thinks about Bow. She almost laughs again while doing so because there’s just… _nothing_ there. She thinks about Glimmer, Perfuma, Mermista, Scorpia, Entrapta…the more she thinks about it, the harder it is _not_ to laugh. And that’s vaguely concerning. Should she be feeling something? How does she know there’s nothing there—how can she measure that, if she’s never felt…that way about anyone?

But…it dawns on her slowly. She knows there’s nothing there with anyone else—nothing that could compare to anything of importance, really. Because…she's felt that way before. The way Bow is talking about.

She’s felt more.

More than just friendship. Deeper, somehow, than the bonds with her best friends.

Something— _someone_ , rather, was always there.

“Well,” Bow sighs, like the problem is solved for him even though Adora hasn’t offered much advice. He sees an opening, and he has to take it. “What about you then? Are you going to ask someone?”

He’s exchanged many conversations with Glimmer about this. Especially about the Ivy Runes. He’s set that photo he’s taken of them as the background of …well just about all of the tracker pads in Bright Moon and has just been waiting for either of them to notice.

He and Glimmer both know that Adora is more…out of touch with her feelings than most. But this is something she can’t possibly be _that_ out of touch with. Adora’s always been focused on helping other people, on fixing things, on winning the war and protecting everyone. But there’s someone who’s always slipped under her radar, who’s always slipped past every line of defense solely because she'd reached the other side before Adora could notice.

And speaking of sides, this particular person had been _real_ annoying until they joined the Rebellion’s side. 

There’s really only one person for Adora to ask. Bow’s asking Glimmer. Seahawk was not subtle in asking Mermista—everyone understood the pain of Catra’s migraines by the time he was done singing his celebration shanty. Scorpia is going with Perfuma. Entrapta has already begun treating the event like a social experiment.

“What?” Adora sputters, face flush, “Me? Psh—I don’t. Who would I? And—yeah.”

“Really? You can’t think of… _anyone_ you’d want to ask?” He presses on when her response is only more stammering of half-constructed sentences, “I don’t know. Like maybe someone you just spent twenty hours in a cave with…?”

And then her slow dawn realization morphs into a skiff going 65 mph.

Catra. It’s always Catra.

“Catra, I— _who_? With me? The celebration? Us—like her and I. Together. At the Celebration. Because I asked her to be there? Like with me. As my… _date_. Like—we’re both there. At the same time. Together.”

“Okay, great! So clearly we’re going to have to workshop how exactly you plan on asking her—”

“I’m asking her? Me?”

“Who else is gonna do it Adora?” Bow asks.

“But she…” _She hates me. She’ll never forgive me. She’ll never be my friend again._ The defensive thoughts rush to her head before she has a chance to remember everything that happened at the Ivy Runes. _She doesn’t hate me. We forgave each other. We’re friends again._

Except the friendship is _different_. But maybe it’s always been different. Ever since she became friends with Glimmer and Bow, she knew her friendship with Catra was dissimilar to theirs. She just assumed that was because they had been become less friends and more enemies at that point.

But now they’re not enemies. Ever since they got Catra back from Beast Island—it’s been different. The cave—the ruins, whatever they’re called…it’s different now. 

_Just because things are different, doesn’t mean they won’t be better._

Scorpia’s words ring in Adora’s mind. It’s a lot to think about. Adora knows the truth, deep down. That’s not the issue.

The issue is that she doesn’t know how Catra feels in return. Asking her would be risky.

She’s brought back into focus when Bow puts his hand on her shoulder, “Adora, come on. You can’t seriously believe Catra _doesn’t_ feel the same way.”

“I…I don’t know, Bow,” Adora confesses, eyes downcast. “We only just…became friends again, or whatever, like a day ago. I don’t want to lose her again.”

“Listen,” Bow’s voice is soft, “I think you should only do what you’re comfortable with. If you don’t want to ask her, you totally don’t have to!”

That’s true. She doesn’t have to. Maybe she just needs more time to think. More time for them to get used to being in each other’s lives again. There will be more time, more opportunities to do things like this.

She’s smiling at Bow gratefully when she notices him doing something on a tracker pad.

“ _But_ , if you don’t think she feels the same way…you have to be out of your mind,” He says before turning it around and showing Adora his handiwork.

It takes Adora all of .005 seconds to recognize that it’s them—curled up and sleeping peacefully on the cave floor. And it takes her only .002 seconds more to realize it’s set as the lock screen of the stupid thing—

“Bow! You better change that before Catra sees,” She blushes furiously, feeling incredibly caught.

“No way. You guys look too cute!”

“I won’t protect you from whatever she chooses to do,” Adora warns, but Bow keeps laughing. She thinks of only one thing as revenge. The only thing she’s seen him get so flustered about and decides to use it to her advantage. “You know…I hope you’re this happy when you’re asking King Micah for his blessing in his daughter's wedding.”

Bow stops laughing immediately at that. He likes Micah, respects him immensely, but that is a _terrifying_ thought.

Then the terror-struck look on his face melts into something cocky, “I could say the same thing to you.”

* * *

“Shadow Weaver? What-what are you doing here?” Catra’s voice is fragile even to her own ears.

But, can you blame her? She thought she’d be safe here. She was promised she’d always be safe on the grounds of Bright Moon.

She never expected to find Shadow Weaver in the emptied out hallway—where the noise of the ongoing festival outside is dulled.

“What am I doing here?” Shadow Weaver asks with a smile, “Well. I’m a prisoner, dear. Where else would I be?”

Catra knows this is true—but where are her guards? Where is everyone else? How is it just the two of them, here? Months of avoiding Shadow Weaver surely couldn’t end like this, in one of the rare moments she finds herself alone.

“The real question is: why are you here? You’ve organized nearly this entire event, and yet they’ve hidden you inside. Why is that?”

Shadow Weaver is too close now. Everyone else is way too far away. It’s just the two of them inside this darkened hall. And why is she inside? Why does she feel stuck to the ground, feet immobile like she’s destined to stay there?

“Because I’m on bedrest. Because it’s too dangerous out there, with the Horde—”

Shadow Weaver’s cackle is sharp, cutting her off and Catra feels like the same little defenseless kid she’s always been. Ears downturned, she feels ashamed. She knows the answer to be true, yet in the face of Shadow Weaver it’s wrong somehow.

“Is that what they’ve told you?” Shadow Weaver tilts her head like she genuinely awaits an answer, eyes narrowing slightly. “Oh Catra—aren’t you smarter than that?”

It’s coated entirely with condescension. Shadow Weaver has never thought she was smart—has never once assigned a positive adjective to Catra in her lifetime.

“Even you must know what they’re doing. They’re ashamed of you—Angella and Micah are heads of an entire kingdom. Do you really think they’d tarnish their precious reputation by letting a failure of a Force Captain be seen on their grounds?”

“Stop it,” Catra tries, voice meek. She feels deflated—like Shadow Weaver’s words can’t be true, but why do they feel like they are? “You don’t-you don’t know them. You’re lying.”

“I don’t know them? Dear I’ve known them longer than you’ve been alive. And I’ll know them _long_ after they see you for who you truly are and cast you aside!” The sorceress walks toward her, slowly—there’s enough time for Catra to turn away. To run anywhere—even outside. Even if that’s not where she’s supposed to go.

But she remains anchored to the floor by some force she can’t discern. Helpless when Shadow Weaver grabs her face, sharp nails digging into the sides of her jaw. “But…I do suppose you know them best. Don’t you? Who knew you’d be so quick to find a new set of parents to pester and beg until they took you in, hmm?”

“What are you talking about?” Catra manages, exhaling in relief when the offending hand releases her face.

“Oh please. Don’t act like you don’t know how heartbroken your own parents would be if they could see you now.”

“My parents…what? You know them?”

Shadow Weaver has never mentioned this before. Is it even true? Surely, if it were, she would’ve used any information about them to hurt Catra by now.

“Knew them. Poor things,” Shadow Weaver turns to half-face Catra. “They died trying to protect you from the Horde. But seems as though they couldn’t even do that, could they?”

That isn’t true. There’s no way it could be true—it’s a lie. It has to be.

“No. They failed. They failed and I got stuck raising you,” Shadow Weaver’s stare is cold and cruel, “Seems as though failure runs in the family.”

“Shut up,” Catra demands, using any strength she can muster to wretch her body away from Shadow Weaver. “Shut up. Shut _up_ -“

“Oh Catra. Denial never serves you well, does it? Denying that Adora never cared about you or that Angella and Micah don’t just view you as another prisoner. Why add denying that your parents are dead because of you to that list?”

At that, Shadow Weaver lunges forward—obscuring Catra’s vision with darkness.

“ _No_!” She cries, voice strained and broken.

But then, in a miraculous moment, her mind returns to her body and she opens her eyes to find that she’s in her bedroom. Sitting up, heart racing and in a cold sweat—she recognizes it for what it’s worth.

A nightmare.

It was just a nightmare. It wasn’t real. Thank god—it was just a horrible dream.

Unbeknownst to Catra, it was not an unfortunate dream forged from stress and lingering anxieties. It was something far more sinister.

Shadow Weaver may be contained by the constant presence of four or more guards at once, but her magic never will be. The darkness of her shadows are far-reaching and can creep their way into all cracks and crevasses of Bright Moon and beyond.

And while she’ll certainly never have the access she needs to visit her former cadet, there’s nothing that can stop her from injecting her dark magic into Catra’s dreams.

A dream fueled by dark magic is not one that Catra is able to shake herself of so easily. Shadow Weaver nightmares are hard enough, but this one is exceptionally rough.

So she leaps out of bed, goosebumps arising from where the cool air meets the sweat of her skin. It’s discomforting, heightening her anxiety. And she doesn’t even try to stealth past the guards anymore—she knows they were sleeping soundly since before she even was.

Unsure of where she’s even walking to—she just keeps going. One foot in front of the other like it’s all her mind can do. She won’t be going back to sleep. Not now.

Seemingly of its own accord, her body takes her to the Grand Hall. Illuminated only by what faint light trickles in from the outside, almost like she’s trying to prove to herself the dream wasn’t real.

But in so doing, it’s almost like she’s recreated the scene for herself. It’s just her, here. What if Shadow Weaver has somehow crept out from her room? If Catra is able to do it so easily, why can't she? What if—

“Catra?”

The voice makes Catra jump-internal alarms of danger blasting. She scrambles away from the touch of a soft hand that reaches out for her before she can realize who it is.

“Oh, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to frighten you. Are you alright?”

It’s Angella. Just Angella. She’s okay.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, “Jeez. How do you walk so quietly? And what are you doing up?”

Angella snorts a little at that, “You broke out of your own room, snuck past the guards and are here to ask me why _I’m_ awake?”

And…okay. Valid. Catra doesn’t have a response to that.

“Close your mouth or you’ll trap a fly that way.” Angella chides gently. Her voice is soft, familiar now after being here for so long. It’s grounding, in a weird way. Better to hear her voice in this hall than the one from her nightmares, at least.

“Psh,” Catra has the wherewithal to scoff at that, “Have you told your bug-eating husband the same thing?”

“They’re high in protein, dear,” her laugh is also comforting. Genuine, like she finds humor with Catra, not at her.

“Oh my god, he told you to say that didn’t he?”

“Told me to say what?” Is the response Catra receives, but there’s a telling look on the Queens face and it’s all the confirmation she needs.

“How are you two _always_ on the same page? It’s cute and all but—”

“You think we’re _cute_?” Angella asks, arms crossing. It’s almost like she’s glowing in the faint light of the Moon. Catra wonders if that’s a consequence of being connected to the runestone.

“That’s not what I said-“

“Cute as we may be,” Angella concedes and Catra knows her smile well enough to know she isn’t about to like what’s coming, “We never accidentally trapped ourselves underground in the Ivy Runes.”

“What- _woah_ , okay, first of all—I like, just woke up. So it is way too early for whatever personal attacks you’re planning.”

“I mean, your f-Micah, and I have been down there, sure. At your age, we all dared to go down to explore the ruins. We never got far enough to see the cavern, though, before my parents found us. And they were rather displeased to find their only daughter running around with the mischievous boy from Mystacor.”

“Mischievous boy from Mystacor? Ew.” Catra wrinkles her nose at that, “The ruins were still…y’know, ruins, when you were our age?”

“How old do you think we are?” Angella asks, mildly offended and it’s Catra’s turn to laugh. “Anyway…yes. I’m sure you noticed the ground in that area isn’t exactly…stable. We were strictly forbidden from entering it, which is why it was erased from all of the maps. But I heard rumors…stories of the lights of the kindred spirits and I was far too curious. I had to see for myself if it was true. Micah had quite a reputation for being a bit of a rule breaker. I knew if anyone would come with me, it’d be him.”

“The lights of the kindred spirits?” Catra repeats, genuinely curious.

“Mhm. They’re rumored to be quite magnificent and enchanting, lighting up the heart of the ruins. But, according to the lore, they can only be seen in the presence of two people who are bound together by fate.”

“Oh, so is that the _real_ reason you took Micah down there?” Catra teases.

Waking up in the middle of the night has it’s disadvantages as it takes a second for the implication of Angella’s words to sink in.

“I didn’t need to see any lights for confirmation that we were meant to be, Catra,” Angella informs her, but there’s a guilty smile that indicates her assumption was spot on.

“Uh-wait. You said those lights…can only be seen, with what—like your soulmate, or whatever?” Catra asks, slowly piecing it together. _She_ saw the lights. _Adora_ saw the lights. “Like…that’s the only way you can see them?”

“I do believe that’s what you were just teasing me about,” Angella says, guiding Catra to walk with her as she does so. “Why do you look so worried dear? It’ just an old legend, no one has ever seen them.”

“Oh. I-it’s nothing.” That’s true. It is nothing. It’s just…just an old wives tale. Maybe they got it wrong, maybe everyone can see those lights. Maybe you can see the lights if you’re with someone you always kind of had feelings for, even knowing they’ll never like you like that—

“What color were they?” As usual, Angella sees right through her. Almost mercilessly.

“Blue.” Catra blurts out, before she can tell herself to lie. Or deflect.

It’s useless to try to deter Angella. It took Catra a while to catch on to that fact but—the Queen is right, asking really is just a formality for her. She seems to have a natural knack for getting the things she wants, gracefully.

“That sounds lovely,” Angella comments with a soft, knowing smile.

It’s with her usual grace that she elects not to grill Catra further on the subject. Angella is like that—she doesn’t always push Catra to talk, not like Micah. Doesn’t always offer immediate solutions or advice. Her attempts are much more subtle, indirect. It’s why her and husband work so well together.

Instead she tells Catra why she’s really awake. She explains she’s always had a fair bit of trouble sleeping through the night. When she was younger, it was pure—she always was simply too excited for the next day to sleep for long. The older she became, the harder it was to sleep due to anxieties about ruling the kingdom.

Then it was because she’d lost Micah. She’d spend hours pacing the castle, patrolling it for herself. Telling herself it was safe as long as she could see for her own eyes that it was. Even now, it’s hard for her to break the habit. Especially the night before such a big celebration.

And it’s nice, listening to Angella talk. Nodding along, laughing at tales of her attempts to put Glimmer to bed-or how she found Bow scaling the side of the castle one night after Glimmer was grounded. She scared him so badly that he dropped the rope and she needed to swoop down and catch him before he got hurt.

Catra’s heart feels calmer now, more relaxed. She doesn’t even realize she’s tired again until she yawns at the end of Angella’s latest story about how she found Adora covered in feathers in the hallway after one of her first nights in Bright Moon.

Angella’s led her, discreetly as ever, back to the hallway where most of the guest bedrooms lie. “And with that, I think it’s time for us both to head back to bed, wouldn’t you say?”

“Pft, I’m not tired,” Catra protests, although she’s not sure what for. She has to fight around another yawn to do so.

“We have a big day ahead of us,” Angella reminds her and Catra knows it’s a losing game.

“Fine,” She sighs, turning away from Angella and eyeing the hall in front of her. But her words remind her of something from the nightmare. “I…”

She’s not confined to her room tomorrow, not by any means. With the increased protection and added training security, she’s free to walk around Bright Moon like anyone else. They don’t plan on hiding her away—not to her knowledge at least.

“What is it?” Angella asks, brows lowered in concern.

Catra would turn around and ask her—face to face. Really, she would. But it’s an embarrassing question, and if she doesn’t like the answer she receives, she doesn’t want to have to face Angella.

“You guys…you aren’t like. Ashamed of me. Are you?” Her face heats red, hanging low in the darkness of the hallway.

But there isn’t a moment of pause for her to overthink or regret her question. Because Angella, with a feather light grip that leaves her with the choice to pull away, takes Catra’s arm and turns her to face her.

With stern eyes a confident voice that could not possibly be questioned or undermined, Angella says to her, “Catra. When it comes to you, there is nothing for us to be ashamed of.”

And Catra regrets asking the question, only because now she doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know what to do with the unexpected sadness that she catches in Angella’s stare. Or with that response—she almost wishes she got a simple yes or no, not bound to something complimentary. So she looks down again until Angella places her hands on Catra’s shoulders.

“Quite the opposite, really. We’re very proud of you.”

“Oh,” Catra’s very limited for words right now. She wasn’t…fishing for a compliment. But now she has it, and she’s not quite sure what to do with it. She knows well enough now that there are no strings attached to the kind words or actions from her or Micah. They don’t set her up with fake pleasantries just to tear her down, they never have. And somehow, that makes whatever they’re doing even more difficult to believe. “Um. Thanks.”

She cringes at her own response, knowing it’s not appropriate before it even leaves her mouth.

Angella’s kind smile doesn’t falter when she says, “There’s no need to thank me. Now, try to get some sleep. Alright?”

Catra nods, about to pull away when Angella leans down and presses a kiss to the top of her head. And with another, light squeeze to her shoulders before walking away, she says again, “Rest well.”

And then she’s gone—down out of the hall and out of sight, disappearing just as soundlessly as she appeared, before Catra can even process what the hell that was.

She’s— _that_ —no. Catra isn’t going to process that, she decides. Not right now. She feels comforted, and too tired to talk herself out of that pleasant feeling. But she doesn’t trust herself to be alone with her thoughts right now either.

* * *

“Catra? What are you doing here?” Adora asks, voice heavy from sleep. Catra had successfully woken her—successful in the sense that Adora is now awake and she was able to evade the usual fighting that comes with waking her up unexpectedly.

“I…couldn’t sleep,” she confesses.

And Adora just smiles. Part of her had been waiting, wondering if _this_ would ever happen again. Sharing a bed.

So she scoots over and gives Catra plenty of room to crawl in next to her. “Sorry, it’s no cave floor but it’ll have to work.”

After a moment’s hesitation and a weary smile, Catra does. They’re both laying down, shoulder to shoulder, arms touching. They don’t say anything for a minute and the air is stilted, hanging between them. It’s awkward, and if it counts as a ‘sleepover’, it’s nothing like the ones they’ve had before.

They’re both so much more…grown. Since the last time they’ve been like this. Catra almost fears that the moment is too long, too awkward and that the old divide has cropped back up again.

But then, abruptly, Adora turns on her side so her body is facing Catra with a concentrated look on her face. The movement is so quick, so unexpected that it startles a laugh out of Catra—even more so when Adora starts talking. “Hey, do you think—what’s so funny?”

But Catra is laughing wholeheartedly now. It’s funny, how they couldn’t have just one moment of silence together. She nearly convinced herself that things were so unmovably different between them now, while Adora was probably just debating what inane question to ask.

Adora is all hope and butterflies and lightness—whereas catastrophizing is Catra’s specialty.

“No, nothing,” Catra says, but it’s so clearly not _nothing_. “Sorry, sorry go on.”

“Do you ever think-“ _Wheeze_. Okay, that's not Catra’s fault. She didn’t fully recover from laughing the first time.

Adora sighs, trying her best to sound mildly annoyed but wholly she’s just confused. She doesn’t get what’s so funny, but Catra’s laughter just makes her want to laugh. And her seeming irritation makes Catra laugh harder, so she tries to fight the smile that plays at her mouth.

“Okay,” Catra takes a deep breath. “I’m good.”

“Do you ever- _Catra!_ ” Adora couldn’t even make it through the first three words of the question and Catra is laughing again. If this is a joke of some kind, she’d really prefer to just be in on it.

Adora sits up now, watching as Catra continues to laugh—only half worried that this is some sort of hysterical break. It catches Adora off guard, to see Catra so…happy. So carefree, next to her of all places. She almost forgets she’s supposed to act annoyed.

Once Catra has quieted down for the third time, Adora tries—“Okay. Are you good?”

She only manages the first word before Catra breaks off into laughter again, “Do y-okay. That’s it.”

Adora takes one of the many pillows and hits Catra with it, “What. Is. So. Funny? You can’t just-just come in here, wake me up and then _laugh_ at me!”

She can, though. She totally can. And Adora is fine with it, if not still confused. But she can’t just admit that.

“Please stop,” Catra breathes between bouts of laughter.

“Stop?” Adora scoffs, “I’m not even doing anything! You won’t let me ask my question, and you won’t even tell me what’s so funny!”

Catra giggles again, “I’ll tell you. But you’re not going to like it.”

Adora raises an eyebrow at her in challenge.

“Okay. I just—the way you turned over to me, so seriously—I just, I don’t know. I knew you were going to ask some nonsense question. I just _knew_ it.”

“Wow,” Adora just stares down at her, mouth agape in offense. Catra is right, that was totally Adora’s plan, but she just needed a way to cut the tension in the room.

“Fine—prove me wrong. What were you going to ask?”

“Oh nothing,” Adora sighs with overdramatic nonchalance. She lays back down, this time facing away from Catra, “Guess it doesn’t matter…”

“Ugh come on,” Catra pulls Adora back over to face her and now they’re definitely closer to each other than before. “Now I need to know.”

Adora looks up at her and can barely contain her own laughter—she’s never been a great actress. “Well…I was _going_ to ask if you think cereal counts as a type of soup. Glimmer and I really got into it the other day, and she claims that soup has to be _hot_ in order to be a soup. But then Bow said that some soups can be served cold—like watermelon gazpacho, or _something._ It basically just sounded like a smoothie, so then it became a ‘what’s the difference between soup and smoothies’ conversation…”

But Catra isn’t laughing at Adora now, just looking at her and smiling softly. Adora, not for the first time, wishes she could just tell what Catra was thinking. The way she’s looking at her now—like she’s not even listening to Adora’s rant, just staring at her in the soft glow of the moonlight, it reminds her of what Bow was saying earlier.

No one has ever looked at Adora like that and Adora has never looked at anyone else like that either.

“Looks like I was right,” Catra’s smile grows wider, eyes crinkling softly, “Total nonsense.”

Without breaking her stare, Adora grabs a pillow and tries to hit her with it—only for Catra to block the blow and wrestle it out of her hands until it slips from both of their grasp and falls to the ground.

“Okay,” Catra says afterwards, “Now I actually _am_ tired.”

Adora snorts at that, “Glad that making fun of me is so exhausting for you.”

“It really is,” she says with a lazy stretch, “Tough job, but someone has to do it. Maybe I should ask for a raise—”

Adora does feel tired now though, too, and it looks like they’ll only be able to get a few more hours of sleep at this point. So she pulls Catra closer, until she’s resting against her like they were the other night.

And it’s enough to get Catra to stop talking, clearly flustered in a way that makes Adora feel a little bit smug.

Until she hears Bow’s voice in her head, asking why would Catra blush like that if she _didn’t_ like Adora? Why would she even come into her room in the first place?

“Catra?”

“…Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question? Like a serious one?”

“Uh, sure,” Catra’s looking up at her now, brow furrowed slightly.

And Adora can’t help but feel a little nervous, but she knows if she doesn’t say it now she simply never will. So it comes out quickly, less-than-gracefully, “Do you want to go to the celebration—um, with me?”

Part of her expects Catra to at least have a shred of the confusion that she had regarding the social customs of it all. Maybe even just _one_ question to prove Adora isn’t alone in her lack of understanding—but she doesn’t. Her eyes widen a little and it’s clear that she understands completely.

Another part of her, the fearful part, expects a joke in response or some cutting remark.

But Catra’s voice is softer than Adora’s ever heard it, just vulnerable as her question, “Yeah, sure. That’d be…cool, I mean-I guess-“

The nervous stumbling over the end of the sentence makes Adora smile, “Cool, huh?”

“Don’t be weird-“

“You think I’m cool?”

“I don’t, actually-“

“Then why’d you agree to go?” Adora smirks, feeling giddy and hoping this isn’t actually some sort of dream.

“Because—” Catra’s voice starts off strong, before trailing off into a hard stop. “Because…maybe I do like you. Sometimes. But it’s definitely not because you’re cool—”

It’d be a perfect opportunity to tease Catra for finally admitting that she likes her. but…

“I like you too,” Adora confesses, instead. And even that feels like a huge understatement.

Gently, their fingers intertwine underneath the covers and Catra shuffles closer—resting her head against Adora’s collarbone. In turn, Adora rests her head on top of Catra’s, smiling contently.

It feels like…everything is here now, for Adora. Before Catra was in Bright Moon, there was an empty space that Adora didn’t even realize was there until this very moment.

And it’s that thought and the ensuing happiness that pulls Adora back to sleep, Catra already dozing off beside her.

* * *

“Don’t you think you’re taking this a _little_ too far?”

“Answer the question, Adora.”

Glimmers voice leaves no room for argument, eyes narrowed in determination. Adora’s convinced that if she had a flashlight, she’d be shining it in her face to give the effect of a full-scale interrogation.

They’re supposed to be getting ready for the celebration—just like how everyone else is. Bow is with Perfuma, Catra is with Scorpia, which just leaves them in Glimmers room. By Adora’s estimation, this is _supposed_ to be fun.

And she thought Glimmer would be excited that she’s going with Catra—but clearly she’s underestimated just how far Glimmer can take things..

“I’ll ask you one more time,” Glimmer cautions with put-on seriousness, “What are your intentions with my sister?”

“Um,” Adora glances between the door and Glimmer, wondering if it’s too late to make a run for it. “You do know I’ve known her longer than you have, right? You and I have been friends longer—”

Glimmer waves her off before breaking out into laughter, “You should’ve seen your face! You looked so serious.”

Adora rolls her eyes, but then Glimmer adds, “But actually though, I’m happy for you guys.”

“I-there’s nothing to be happy about! Why does everyone make this such a big deal?” Adora asks, blushing. The only person who doesn’t make such a big deal out of this is Catra. It was so simple to just _ask_ her, Adora was only slightly annoyed at Bow for making it seem like there was some huge suspense behind it.

“Relax,” Glimmer elbows her, “We’re just having fun! And this is way better than Frosta’s Princess Prom.”

It definitely is. Now that Glimmer isn’t upset over Bow and Adora doesn’t have to strategize some grand plan to get Frosta to join the rebellion. She’s a little nervous about the actual event, but reminds herself it’ll be _fun_. She doesn’t have to worry about Catra plotting something or hanging out with Scorpia all night.

“Don’t let her hear you say that,” Adora laughs nervously, knowing fully well how well that _wouldn’t_ go over with the Princess.

“But, you’re right. _We_ have been friends for longer. So if Catra hurts you—”

“Catra isn’t going to hurt me,” Adora says staunchly. Glimmer opens her mouth to argue, “And yeah, yeah I know—manage my expectations and all that. But it’s different now. Things are…a lot different. And that’s good.”

Catra’s opened up to her, she even came to her last night. Things have changed between them.

“Yeah,” Glimmer agrees with a fond smile, “Things are different.”

They’re whole, more complete. There isn’t a void in the empty seat at the Alliance table. Every chair is filled-even her fathers. They had to actually bring more chairs to the table.

Things are better.

Standing up, Adora smooths the wrinkles out of her dress; the same red worn she’d worn for the prom. Glimmer had offered to let her try on some of her other dresses to which Adora politely declined because she did _not_ need a rerun of the uncomfortable exchange.

Glimmer’s dress is nearly identical to the one she wore that night too—the one that couldn’t be salvaged from the rips and tears of the Fright Zone.

She wonders, briefly, what Catra will be wearing. Seeing as the suit is somewhere out of reach and no longer accessible. At the very least, they had wound up matching to an extent—just like Glimmer and Bow will be matching today.

Biting her lip, she worries they may not be color coordinated and if that will be a big deal. Logically, she knows it doesn’t matter, but there’s so much about this stuff that she just doesn’t _know_.

It seems like she won’t have to wait long to figure it out because there’s a knock at the door, and Glimmer gleefully bounds over to open it. Her heart only drops a little bit when she hears Bow’s distinct voice, politely escorting Glimmer out. They promise to meet Adora down there and tell her to _have fun_ with a purposeful stare.

She just shakes her head as she watches them walk down the hallway—not sure why she’s suddenly so _nervous_. Maybe she was supposed to meet Catra at Scorpia’s room? Or is Catra already waiting for her outside-

“Hey Adora.”

Her worries are put to ease when she hears that familiar voice, turning her attention to the other side of the hallway. Where Catra is leaning up against the wall with an amused expression.

Always one for a dramatic entrance. Adora can’t help but smile back, “Hi.“

It’s all Adora can manage to say because— _wow_. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting Catra to wear, only hoping for her own sake that Glimmer didn’t try to shove her into one of the garb dresses she forced on Adora last year, but it wasn’t _this_.

She’s wearing black, fitted pants and a light-burgundy dress shirt—hair in the same low ponytail she’s been wearing it in.

“Looking for me?” Catra asks, pushing herself off the wall and walking over to her, “What, were you worried I wasn’t going to show?”

Adora rolls her eyes, playing along, “Psh—like you’d miss this. You said I was cool, remember?”

“Um, I distinctly remember saying you _weren’t_ cool,” Catra shakes her head.

Uninterested in debating what’s ultimately a moot point, Adora says instead, “You look nice.”

Catra’s face flushes at that, blinking at her in surprise. Adora considers it a success—not having accidentally wound up insulting her the way she did a few weeks ago when trying to tell her that her hair looked nice.

“You look nice, too. Surprised they let you outside without that red jacket on.” She responds easily.

She tries to cover the blush on her face by laughing at playful comment, “And hey—we match.”

Catra rolls her eyes at that, “Of course we do. Had a feeling you were wearing that dress again.”

They start making their way to the stairs and Adora scoffs, “You always tell me how predictable I am.”

Catra just flashes her the same, soft smile as she had the previous night and takes one step down before extending her hand to Adora.

“You ready to do this, princess?”

* * *

The celebration proves to be nothing short of perfect throughout the day, just until dusk settles.

The air is warm and sweet, abuzz with a steady, unending kind of excitement. Everything just feels so… _perfect_. There hasn’t been a single misstep or stumble through the long laundry list of events for the entire day. Everything from regal proceedings to Bright Moon maypole dances has gone without a hitch.

Sure, Catra has been on the receiving end of a few skeptical stares from those who’d undoubtably heard of her career in the Horde—but someone from the Alliance was always no more than a footstep away, quick to explain their endorsement. Most of the time that person had been Adora, and everyone was far too enamored with the protector of Etheria to put up that great of an argument.

Now they’ve reached what Catra considers to be the main event of the day: Micah’s homecoming speech. She isn’t standing with the main crowd of esteemed guests or locals, eagerly awaiting the words of the returned King like she’d anticipated. Instead, she’s situated on the sidelines of the stage. Angella is by Micah’s side, smiling wide, while Catra stands between Glimmer and Bow.

Which is not a place she ever would’ve ever pictured for herself.

But Adora is just on the other side of Bow, and if Catra elbows Arrow Boy just so he bumps into Adora—well, who’s going to stop her?

“Will you please not do that? I didn’t ask to be put here,” Bow says between his teeth as he smiles out into the crowd, waving at his fathers. Catra almost snickers when she sees them, remembering what Adora had told her about Bow’s grand double-life.

Only _this_ kid would construe a second-life for himself that consisted him of being an even bigger nerd than he was in his first.

“Relax,” Catra rolls her eyes with a smirk, “You’ll be back next to Glimmer in no time.”

“What did you say about me?” Glimmer asks from her place at Catra’s side, also trying not to turn her head and look at her friends.

Catra doesn’t know much about royal proceedings, but she knows it’s generally considered rude to look anywhere other than the crowd when onstage at these events.

“Glimmer,” Adora whisper-calls through a smile from her place at the end of the line.

“What, Adora?” Glimmer asks, exasperation seeping through her tone.

“Hi.” Is all Adora has to say, earning laughter from Catra.

“Ugh, you two are ridiculous,” Glimmer huffs, “I can’t believe the Horde didn’t teach you guys anything about stage presence.”  
“I can’t believe the Alliance didn’t teach you anything about stage _placements_ ,” Catra counters. And it’s true, the Glimmer-Catra-Bow-Adora configuration makes very little sense.

It’s understandable that Glimmer would be closest to the podium, to her parents. But given how easily her and Catra can pick a fight with each other, it probably would’ve been smart to put at least Bow between them. But, clearly, Adora doesn’t like feeling too left out, so it really should’ve been _Catra_ on the end. With Adora by her side, she’d at least feel somewhat motivated to be on her best behavior.

But no, the event coordinators were rather insistent on this order.

“What did Catra say?” Adora’s voice whispers.

“Enough guys!” Bow’s demands, voice stressed.

“Listen to Bow,” Glimmer whispers in Catra’s ear.

“Did Glimmer just say something about me?” Bow leans closer to Catra.

“She says you’re a wet blanket—”

“I did not!”

Across the stage, Angella clears her throat with a pointed glance and all four of them fall silent—straightening up their posture. They remain that way, poised and polite throughout Angella’s welcome and when Micah begins speaking.

“The people of Bright Moon and all of Etheria,” Micah starts, face serious but eyes shining with a brightness that conveys his happiness. “Words can’t capture how truly incredible it is to be reunited with you all.”

Catra wants to laugh. Both she and Angella had asked Micah if he prepared a speech, to which he hastily replied _Oh. Yeah. Of course._ in a way that was so clearly a lie that all they could do was roll their eyes at him. She knows he’s got to be winging it and still it’s weird to see him address the crowds of people with such regality.

It’s so weird that she only half listens to the speech, attention fading in and out as she studies him carefully. Angella’s reign and flex of royal power is something Catra has grown quite used to. But Micah has always let Angella lead, always more content to sit back during royal proceedings or Alliance meetings. Catra just assumed it was because he had missed so much it wouldn’t exactly make sense for him to lead these things.

But now, watching him speak with such confidence and instilling everyone with such hope—it’s clear that Micah knows how to lead and is more than capable of it. He chooses not to, or he leads in a way that’s more behind the scenes. He listens to others, like he’s always listened to Catra and works out of the spotlight to make things happen.

Looking at him now, adorned in the type of royal clothing only used for these events, he looks rather unlike the man Catra had come to know. Certainly nothing like the worn and tattered version of himself that Catra had met—had _attacked_ at first sight.

She smiles bitterly at the memory; recalling just how surprised she was to find she wasn’t alone on the island. More surprising was how he immediately reached forward—trying to touch her, to prove to himself she wasn’t just a mirage. And that’s really when the interaction went south for him.

Anger and a sharp spike of defensiveness had pierced through her. She was confused and disoriented in a foreign place, unceremoniously kicked out of the only life she’d ever known. She had just lost in a way that was both major and miniscule.

Major in that it had cost her everything, miniscule in that part of her couldn’t believe _that_ was how she lost. She always imagined if she were to ever be defeated, it’d be out of some dumb luck that She-Ra had encountered. Or she’d be overpowered by the sheer strength of the Alliance, like at the Battle of Bright Moon. If she had lost that way, at least she’d be going out in a fiery blaze, a fitting end for her efforts of equal measure.

Never did she think she’d lose in a moment of silent defeat. Because she had been outsmarted, tricked by Shadow Weaver slipping away and indirectly causing her downfall. She lost her power, her place in the Horde when that wasn’t even want Shadow Weaver had primarily intended. Her life was mere collateral to the sorceress.

Something about that is humiliating. She’d learned that it had taken a few days before the Rebellion had even caught wind of Catra’s disappearance. It wasn’t even a well-known fact within the Horde, according to Scorpia. Catra was there one day and gone the next, her existence and her disappearance both too inconsequential to warrant a full explanation.

She meant nothing to them. Nothing to Shadow Weaver. Nothing to the Horde. And now she could recognize that so many of her choices hinged on the fear of meaning nothing.

And yet she’s only here today because she meant something to Micah. Even after attacking him, pushing him away and mocking him—he saw something in her. Even when she was just a discarded Horde soldier with nothing left to give.

At her worst and her most broken he saw a worth in her that she still doesn’t even fully see or believe herself. Originally, she thought he was being nice to her because he wanted something from her—maybe someone to help him get off the Island. But after she shot that idea down, he never mentioned it again. She was the one who offered to help him and only him leave.

And when he could’ve left without her, he didn’t. He still stayed. Not only did he know every misstep and mistake she made at that point, but when confronted with the option to leave her and return to his perfect family—his perfect life, he refused. 

Coming back to Bright Moon, he could’ve just left her to her room. He didn’t have to try to convince her to join the Alliance or bother trying to teach her magic. Even when she refused to join or when she failed at every well-guided and patient attempt—he still stayed.

Whatever it is that Micah saw in her on the fated day, he never lost sight of it. He never gave up on her and it’s so…hard for Catra to comprehend.

It makes something unfamiliar rise within her—a feeling too foreign to name. There’s too much meaning, too much weight to it, she feels like she might drown in it.

“Let there be no mistake: I could go my entire life without ever even hearing the name _Beast Island_ again,” Micah says in closing—forcing Catra to realize she’s missed the entirety of whatever he’s said. He says it with a smile and it even draws a laugh from the crowd, “But I’d be lying if I said I gained nothing from the journey. I carry with me now a renewed appreciation for everything in life—for my wife, for my family, for all of Bright Moon and Etheria. I found a new perspective on life, an ability to wake up every day and see how far we’ve come, rather than how much longer there is to go. But also…”

He trails off and Catra and Glimmer exchange a concerned glance—worrying he’s lost his train of thought. Angella reaches her arm through his in comfort.

Then he speaks again, voice carrying a refreshed kind of vigor, “I have a confession to make. Not a day passed where I didn’t dream of returning home, and there were many attempts I made to escape the Island. And I pride myself on being a hopeful man—some may even say _too_ optimistic. But time…wore me down. And there was a point where I had lost hope. Where I stopped counting the days or thinking of ways to get off the island.”

This is new information for Catra. Sure, she’d sort of pieced together that his attempts had grown more and more futile. But she assumed he never quit, would never quit. That was like…his thing.

“Standing here now, regaining all which I thought had been lost forever, it pains to me to admit this but…I had given up. Time blurred together and I truly believed I was never going to return to Bright Moon. Until someone very special to me and _all_ of Bright Moon showed up,” Micah explains. And he has to be talking about Glimmer. And Bow. And Adora. And everyone else who came on the rescue mission the day he was saved. But he’s looking right at Catra now.

“I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for this person. Trying to teach me how to fish or pulling me off of rocky cliffs or constantly refusing to acknowledge that bugs are a valuable source of protein,” He jests and there’s no disputing who he’s talking about now, “Catra gave me something I thought I had lost permanently; hope.”

She doesn’t really know what to do, right now. There’s no way what he’s saying could possibly be true. But if it wasn’t, why would he bother saying it? She doesn’t understand—

Adora reaches out behind Bow and laces their hands together. Almost like she can hear the spiraling thoughts from Catra’s mind. And it’s helpful, it’s grounding. She shoots Adora a thankful smile.

“And now with Catra on our side, I know that the Alliance is stronger than ever. Bright Moon is stronger than ever. And now it’s only a matter of time until we defeat the Horde, once and for all, and restore peace and prosperity to all of Etheria.”

The crowd applauds and cheers at that—signifying the end of the speech. Glimmer bumps into her with a bright, genuine and reassuring smile. She loses grip of Adora’s hand when Bow and Glimmer link arms with her and cheer.

She puts on a smile and hopes she’s matching their level of enthusiasm. But it feels…hard. Forced. Her mind is still swirling, trying to process everything when she’s lead off the stage.

She doesn’t make it too far before realizing where Bow and Glimmer are leading her, right to Angella and Micah—cautiously looking back to see Adora but not finding her.

“Where’s Adora?” Catra asks anxiously.

Bow and Glimmer laugh goodheartedly, “Relax. She’ll be right back.”

“Catra,” Micah greets with a wide smile—Bow and Glimmer taking off immediately afterwards. That’s how she realizes she’s been led into something.

“Not a bad speech for someone who made it up on the fly,” Catra crosses her arms and tries to push down any emotions she’s feeling right now.

“Care to go on a walk with us?” Angella asks, gesturing to the path ahead of her.

“Um. Sure,” She agrees hesitantly, looking between the two of them before stepping forward.

They’re definitely up to something, that much she can tell. Her eyes narrow in suspicion as they flank her sides. The afternoon light is fading, casting a pink glow across the grounds. They’ve walked around Bright Moon countless times, but this time is different somehow.

“Enjoying the party, kid?” Micah asks, looking at Catra curiously.

“Okay,” Catra stops walking once there’s a considerable amount of distance between them and the crowd. “What’s up with you two? You’re acting weird.”

Rather than answering her question, they look at each other again. Communicating something in silence, something not meant for Catra to hear.

“Can’t pull anything over on you, can we?” Micah turns his attention back to Catra with a small smile.

“You’re not subtle. Like at all,” Catra snorts. And that's when she realizes it—what’s off about them: they’re _nervous_.

She’s never seen them look anything less than self-assured and it only makes the anxiety double within her.

“Actually,” Angella’s voice is pitched a bit higher than normal, “There is something we wanted to discuss with you.”

 _Something bad._ It has to be bad, that’s what Catra’s brain tells her. How could it be anything else? She tries to wrack her brain, thinking of what it could possibly be—thinking if she can just figure out what it is, she’ll be able to protect herself from what comes next.

“Well, don’t keep me guessing,” Catra aims for impatient, irritated that her mind is currently drawing a blank.

“Catra,” Angella starts, grabbing Micah’s hand, “We think it’s comes as no surprise that we’ve come to consider you as family.”

“Uh…” Catra once again looks between the two of them—unable to decipher the stupidly fond look on their faces, “It doesn't?”

And maybe to them it is no surprise. Family is a familiar concept for both Angella and Micah—entwined with the warmth and comfort of a stable family dynamic for most of their lives. They can recognize it when they see it, having a sturdy foundation to build off of.

But Catra is unaccustomed to it. It’s not something she can pick up on so easily. Even the word ‘family’ harkens back to last night’s dream, making her skin crawl.

“Of course,” Angella confirms, taking Catra’s hand, “And we know this is a lot for you. And you’ve _been_ through a lot. But we love having you here with us, Glimmer has taken quite a liking to you as well.”

Catra wants to roll her eyes at that and remind them that Glimmer has taken less of a liking to her specifically and more of a liking to bragging about being the ‘older sister’. However, there’s a traitorous part of her that says that isn’t true.

But then Micah asks her something that feels a bit out of the blue, “What do you want to do after the war ends, Catra?”

Catra looks at him, eyes widened. She knew what she’d do when the war ended if she were on the side of the Horde—she’d either be ruling it, held prisoner by it, or dead.

“Uh, I’m supposed to be helping with reconstruction, right?” She guesses, keeping her exterior cool. “You know, since it was so easy to destroy in the first place. Clearly you guys are going to need an expert to make things less…destroyable in the future.”

Unless they don’t want her here afterwards. Wouldn’t have a use for her after this is all over.

Angella laughs softly, “No, dear. We asked what _you_ want to do. Not what you think we want you to do.”

“Um…” Catra’s puzzlement only continues to grow. That’s not something she has an answer to. “I don’t know? It’s not like I ever thought about it.”

“That’s fine,” Micah assures her, bringing Angella closer to him, “You don’t have to know now. But we wanted to give you the choice. We want you to know that we _want_ you to stay here, with us. Help rebuild the world, practice magic—or whatever you want to do. We’d like it if you stayed.”

 _Stayed_? Catra didn’t ever view leaving as option. It wasn’t something she thought about. She didn’t know where she’d even go.

 _We want you to stay here_. They want her, actually want her, not just as a pawn in the war or a battle chip. Catra doesn’t know what to say—she knows she doesn’t want to leave, but…there’s so much she still doesn’t quite understand.

Why would they want her to stay, if not to fix all that she’s broken?

“And we’d like to make it official,” Angella speaks again. “We know it’s a lot to think about, but…”

Micah hands her a piece of paper, neatly folded and sealed with the Bright Moon crest. She doesn’t hesitate to open it, looking frantically between the paper and the two of them as he speaks, “We know you’re not a child anymore—it’s more, you know, symbolic than anything but...we’d like to adopt you.”

The proof is in her hands—the words at the top of the paper staring back at her: **PETITION FOR ADOPTION** — _Superior Court of Bright Moon._

And Catra is speechless-rereading the lines of the paper in front of her again and again. Like the words will change if she looks away for too long.

They don’t say anything as her eyes scan the paper back and forth, and for that she’s grateful. She’s not sure if she can handle hearing or processing anything else right now.

Because they want her. To be their daughter. Their family. Like, officially.

They want to be her parents.

Her heart races as she contemplates that, mulling it over in her head. She’d grown up without parents. Sometimes she might wonder about them, but those moments were few and far between. No one in the Horde had parents, so it’s not like she ever felt like she was missing out—

_They died trying to protect you from the Horde._

Shadow Weaver’s voice enters her head. Never consciously, never does Catra _invite_ that energy, but she’s helpless to stop it when it does.

It isn’t true, is it? That was just a dream. It couldn’t be real. Shadow Weaver has never mentioned Catra’s parents before. _Hordak_ himself never has. But why did it feel so much realer than a dream? She can’t shake the vestiges of it from her brain.

“Why?” She asks when she finally finds her voice. “I…don’t understand.”

Catra just gets the same sad, unnamable look as she did last night from Angella, or when she explicitly told Micah he wasn’t her father.

“Because, I meant it,” Micah explains to her, softness in his tone only adding to the strength of his words, “Before you…I was lost, every day was the same hopeless cycle. I was sure I was going to die alone on that Island. But then you came and it was like time began again.”

“You make it sound like-like I just casually stumbled onto the island one day,” Catra points out in an attempt to joke—because she really doesn’t know what to say or do right now.

He chuckles at that and she relaxes just a bit, beginning to think this might be real. His words might be true and this is more than just a piece of paper in her hand; it’s a promise.

“Catra, you gave me hope again.” He repeats, voice serious.

But she was raised to fight and destroy. ‘Giving hope’ was never in her instruction manual, she never thought it was something she could be capable of.

“And not only have you given me my family back,” Angella contributes, “But you’ve added so much to it. To us, this just feels like the natural next step. We’re surprised, quite honestly, that we hadn’t thought of it sooner.”

“Don’t be too surprised,” Catra scoffs before nodding at Micah with her head, “Pretty sure he left all of his good ideas on that island somewhere along with the razorfin deflector.”

They smile at that, but don’t take the bait in switching the subject. If anything, they just buckle down a bit more.

“Listen, you don’t have to give us an answer now,” Micah says, closing her hand around the paper, “We know this is…a lot. And there’s no rush-you can take all the time you need.”

“And if you decide this isn’t something you want, that’s okay,” Angella reaches out for her other hand. “It doesn’t have to change anything. We still want you to stay here, you don’t need to sign any papers to do it. Just…promise us you’ll think about it?”

Once again, Catra flicks her gaze between the two of them, a storm of uncertainty brewing inside her, “I promise.”

It’s a promise that Catra keeps, giving both of their hands a squeeze before walking away. She just needs a moment to herself, a chance to puzzle this whole thing out. Because feeling like people want her around is new enough—but that combined with the speech and now Adora…it feels like too much. It’s all good but almost like there’s _too_ much good. Like Catra can’t let herself believe in the good too much or the rug will be pulled out beneath her and she’ll be left falling.

She lets herself look across the crowd of people. Members of the Alliance are scattered throughout, dancing, laughing—and they’re _good_ people. In a way, it hurts to admit that, because it means she was wrong. That the Horde was wrong, the way they raised her and trained her to be was also wrong.

Inherently, she’s always known the Horde wasn’t exactly _good_ or an upstanding role model for a functional society. She knew fear and hate and punishment, but for the longest time that’s all she thought there was to the world.

That’s all she thought _she_ was. She refused to believe there could be anything more, refused to listen to Adora’s explanation and see it for herself. Instead she simply dug her heels in and did what she’d been trained to do: Fight. Win. Destroy. _Hate._

Maybe Micah is right and they’re close to defeating the Horde, but they’d be a hell of a lot closer if it weren’t for Catra. When she looks at these people, at Perfuma patiently watching over Entrapta or Mermista allowing herself to look just a _little_ amused by Seahawk’s attempt at dancing—she wonders just how many people she’s hurt. How much damage she incurred because she just didn’t care. Refused to care. Because caring was a sign of weakness. It’s how she got hurt, every single time.

If she never cared about Adora, she wouldn’t have been so hurt when she left. If she didn't care about Shadow Weaver—not only would she have spared herself a lifetime of pain and disappointment for failing to meet her expectations, but she never would’ve had the heart to stop her from getting sent to Beast Island. Catra never would’ve been sent off in her place.

But Catra’s come to realize that the what-if’s don’t matter so much anymore. She cares now… _a lot_. She can admit it. She cares for Adora, for Micah and Angella, for Scorpia…even for _Glimmer_ and the rest for the Alliance. Perhaps she even cares about the people of Bright Moon and greater Etheria.

The paper that she’s slipped into her pocket tells her that clearly, they must care about her too. She’s gotten more than just forgiveness; she has an invitation to stay in their lives. Because they _want_ her to. Not because they need her or could use her later down the line. But…they want her. They care about her.

Something feels like it’s missing there, like a connection Catra still can’t seem to make.

But regardless, she’s just not sure if she deserves it. Not after everything she’s done.

Sure, she’s helped. She’s made some moves to atone for her actions—even if she won’t take credit for ‘saving Micah’.

For the first time in her life, Catra has all of this opportunity to do good, to be good and to have good things.

And she’s just not sure if she deserves it.

The overwhelming depth of fortune that’s come her way feels too good to be true. Too lucky. Even if a small part of her tries to remind her that she’s _earned_ it. Still…

Her mind goes back and forth—replaying their words. Knowing she doesn’t have to say yes and things can still be the same is _nice_. Like she won’t face punishment for her choice, even if it isn’t the choice they want her to make. She isn’t being forced to do anything.

She could leave. She could run. After she makes sure that the people she cares about don’t get hurt by the very force she’s helped create, she could leave. And it would be easier to do that than face all of the hurt she’s caused.

But…if she’s learned anything it’s that easier doesn’t mean better. Or more worthwhile.

Easier in this case means no more teaming up with Glimmer across the dinner table to poke fun at Micah, no more magic lessons or soft, quiet moments with Angella. No more watching Scorpia attempt to babysit Emily while Entrapta is off…doing whatever it is Entrapta does here. No more friendly banter with Frosta and Netossa or truly competitive and challenging spars with Mermista.

And, particularly, no more Adora either.

Carefully, she takes the piece of paper from her pocket and unfolds it. Gently brushing her fingers across the ink.

She has another choice, to stay. And ‘make it official’. Whatever that means, exactly.

 _You’re basically a princess_ , Adora’s teasing voice flits through her memory, making her smile.

It’s kind of true. It just happened so gradually that it evaded Catra’s notice.

So maybe she can stay. Sign her name on the line beneath Angella’s and Micah’s, even if she isn’t sure it’s something she’s deserves. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to stick around and prove herself worthy of the opportunity. Even if means confronting all the damage she’s caused.

It might just be worth it.

* * *

Breathless, Adora bounds down the stairs and into the courtyard where the chairs and tables have been moved and set aside to make room for people to dance.

She’s got a little black pouch in the pocket of her dress and she scans the crowd, looking for the person she’s trying to give it to when—

 _There._ Her eyes land on Catra, who’s currently dancing with Scorpia. For just a quick second, she lets herself take pause. Maybe in another time, another place, Adora might feel jealous at the way Catra leans in and laughs at whatever Scorpia is saying-the genuine, breathy laugh she does when something is senselessly funny. But it isn’t that time or place. Adora has Catra back now—more of Catra than she ever had before.

And really, how can Adora hold any sort of ill-will for Scorpia when she’s the only reason they knew about Catra’s banishment in the first place? Sure, Adora had distinctly noticed her absence and most definitely would’ve caught on eventually but…without Scorpia…they may have been too late.

And she’s definitely not about to hold any grudges on the woman who has all of the finer details on the events that Adora has missed. The person who can fill her in on the more lighthearted moments in the Horde, the one she can swap stories on Catra’s more stubborn or hilarious moments all in good nature.

She’s smiling so fondly at the pair that she doesn’t notice someone else walking up to her.

“Adora,” King Micah greets, “Having fun?”

Caught staring, she flushes a little, “Oh—yeah. Today’s been super fun. You had uh, a great speech.”

“Hm, call me old fashioned but back in my day it was much more fun to quit staring and start dancing with a certain someone…” He jests, causing her face to flush harder at the words.

“I—uh, well, she’s just—she just seems really happy. Right now,” Adora tries to explain.

“I’m just messing with you,” he smiles, mimicking her posture and leaning up against the wall of the castle.

After a beat of silence, Adora asks the question that’s been on her mind all day, “So…how did it go?”

“Glimmer told you?” Micah sighs, knowing good and well that Glimmer wouldn’t have been able to keep it a secret.

“Yeah,” she winces, “Was she not supposed to?”

Micah just shakes his head with a fond smile, “It’s fine. I think she took it well but…sometimes I really don’t know what goes on in that head of hers.”

She snorts at that— _that_ is a feeling she knows all too well. She’s come to accept she may never fully understand Catra, and that’s okay. She doesn’t _need_ to. She doesn’t have to try to anticipate every thought in her head or fix every problem before she actualizes it. Catra can come to her, can explain her feelings to her without Adora trying to guess her way through it.

“I think she’ll say yes,” Adora hopes, “I mean, I don’t know why she wouldn’t.”

“It’s almost like she still doesn’t believe it ,” Micah sighs, looking sad, “No matter what we do.”

It’s another feeling Adora is quite familiar with. Feeling like no matter what she did or said, Catra still didn’t understand. There’s some kind of wall there, a refusal to see her own worth.

Adora has a good feeling she knows where it comes from. Understanding a bit more now just how different the abuse they’ve faced from Shadow Weaver was.

“She just needs time,” Adora says, and it’s weird—to be the one telling someone else that.

“You’re right,” Micah affirms, “Lucky for us, we’ve got plenty of that.”

“What are you two talking about?” Catra’s voice—sharp, inquisitive cuts through.

“Oh, nothing—”

“You, actually,” Micah challenges, nudging Adora to play along, “Just, you know telling her about the first time you tried to draw an illusion spell—”

“Ugh, do _not._ ”

“Oh he totally did,” Adora agrees enthusiastically, unsure of what she’s even agreeing to. She doesn’t know how to really play along with this, so she shifts gears just a bit, “And I was just telling King Micah about how much better you’ve gotten with your magic.”

Catra wrinkles her nose at that, “That’s worse, somehow.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen her at the Ivy Runes,” Adora gasps, wondering how it completely slipped her mind, “She’s the one who found the path to the cave just by summoning a ball of fire-“

“Adora,” Catra hisses, mortified at the attention while Micah finds great amusement in the conversation.

“And she lit up an entire wall of torches without evening blinking an eye. We didn’t even need _She-Ra._ ”

“Adora.”

“Oh! And once we got the cave we saw all of these lights and—”

Micah’s face lights in surprise at that, no doubt making the connection Angella did earlier. “Wait, you saw the kindred spirits?”

“Okay! We’re gonna go dance now, bye!” Catra says in a rush, tugging Adora away before she can tell Micah too much.

Adora, none the wiser, laughs hysterically as Catra tugs them down the steps closer to the dance floor. She notes the look of surprise on Catra’s face when she takes charge and instead leads them in the option direction, near the balcony.

“Wait,” Adora says, “Can we talk for a second?”

“What’s wrong?” Catra asks with a frown.

“Nothing-nothing’s wrong!” Adora is quick to say. “I just-Bow gave Glimmer flowers earlier and I…have something for you, too.”

Catra wasn’t expecting that, “Oh. I don’t have anything for you-“

“Oh no, no—I don’t expect anything!” Adora is quick to reassure her, “I’m just… really happy that you’re here. That’s more than enough for me.”

It’s the truth. Adora never pictured this, never in her wildest dreams did she let herself fantasize about this. It never crossed her mind as a possibility, to have Catra here but _really_ here. Not just in a superficial way, not just as a prisoner to Bright Moon or as a begrudging friend. In the best case scenario, Adora never dreamed that Catra would actually be…friends with her friends. Accepting of She-Ra. Happy on Bright Moon.

It’s more than she ever hoped for.

“That is…so corny,” Catra says blinking slowly at her—aiming for unaffected, but the red in her cheeks betrays her.

“Yeah, probably,” Adora laughs awkwardly before handing Catra the small black pouch. “But I’ve had this for a while…I didn’t know what to do with it, actually. But the other day, I had an idea. I mean—I didn’t make it, Netossa actually helped me…”

As Adora rambles, Catra opens the pouch and pulls out a necklace. It’s a long, thin but sturdy black material with…something red hanging off of it. It’s a shard, a piece of something that Catra can’t put her finger on. It’s bound to the necklace with silver wire that wraps around the shard intricately.

“We actually had to sand it down—it was kind of sharp. And I didn’t uh, want you to poke yourself with it, or anything. But…um, do you-recognize it?” Adora asks and Catra looks up at her and then to the necklace curiously. She runs her fingers over the edges of the centerpiece, rough edges smoothed over.

 _Recognize it_ …Catra wracks her brain. There’s something familiar about it, that’s for sure. It’s a deep red, almost like the color of her shirt. Adora must know where it’s from. And if she expects Catra to know where it’s from, then it’s something they must’ve shared together. But she can’t think of anything—it’s not like her or Adora kept any mementos from their time in the Horde. Not that they had the option to or that there was much to keep in the first place.

She shakes her head after a minute, clasping it in her hands—as if holding it will give her the answer. Adora looks even more nervous now.

She takes a steadying breath before explaining—an awkward laugh to break the tension. She’s unsure of how Catra will react—worried she might’ve crossed a line. It feels like a really bad idea now, but she just got swept up in it…

“I…it’s part of your headpiece,” Adora confesses, finally. Catra’s eyes snap to hers, expression completely unreadable to Adora.

“What? How-“

“On Beast Island. Um. After we found you-well before we found you, we found it on the ground. And I was so worried you-“ _Okay_. She has to remind herself not to go there, doesn’t want to ruin the moment with a negative memory. She coughs before continuing, “Y’know. Anyway. But when we were headed back to the ship I just…I saw it. And I knew how much you loved it. I would’ve grabbed the whole thing if I thought we could fix it or something but it was just-there were so many pieces and I don’t know, I wasn’t really thinking-I just did it-But then I had it for so long and I didn’t know— _oh no_.”

Catra is crying, tears streaming slowly down her face but too quick for her to wipe away before Adora notices.

“Oh no, Catra- don’t cry,” Adora reaches out but freezes, not sure if touching her is what she needs right now. Especially since she hates the necklace and Adora clearly didn’t think it through, and now she’s made her cry. “I’m so sorry-you don’t have to wear it! We can cut it out of the wire, or we can just throw it away, you don’t have to keep it!”

“What?” Catra sniffles, looking up at her blearily before shifting away from Adora, hand gripping the necklace tighter like Adora is going to take it away from her, “ No-why? I’m going to wear it forever—”

 _I’m going to wear it forever!_ The words from a much younger Catra discovering the headpiece for the first time ring out, clear as crystal, in Adora’s memory.

“Oh…You like it?” Adora asks. Maybe the tears weren’t a bad thing.

“Uh, _yeah_. I love it-I just-I didn’t expect…I mean, I had no idea. I thought all of it was gone. Forever.”

Sometimes things break. Shatter, entirely. Unable to be glued back together or perform their original utility. It might seem as though it’s purpose is lost, gone forever. But sometimes unexpected pieces can linger. Seeming miniscule at first, but more than enough to be reborn and forged into something new.

Something beautiful.

“Oh,” Adora blushes, “I just thought-you were crying, so I didn’t know…”

“Happy tears, you dummy,” Catra looks up at her, smiling and eyes shone with appreciation. Gratefulness.

That’s _way_ better than what Adora was thinking.

Better still, is the way Catra reaches forward and wraps her arms under Adora’s—pulling her into a tight hug. This might be a moment for the history books, because Adora is absolutely so certain she’s never seen Catra initiate a hug before, much less experienced it for herself. 

Which is a damn shame, Adora thinks when she reciprocates the embrace, because Catra is _pretty_ good at it.

“Here, let me put it on you,” Adora offers, though reluctant to break the hug.

Catra hands her the necklace, before turning around and lifting her ponytail so it isn’t in Adora’s way.

“Do you miss it?” she asks, unclasping the necklace and moving it over Catra’s head. “The headpiece, I mean.”

“It’s weird. I do, but I don’t. Like I used to, a lot actually. I never thought I’d have it back again. But now I…it just doesn’t feel like me, anymore,” Catra explains, smiling when Adora hooks it together. She turns around and says, “But this? This is perfect.”

With a soft smile, Adora can’t help but agree. She laces their fingers together, anxieties melting away as they interlock, until all she feels is a giddy excitement.

Everything is perfect.

Until Catra doubles over, clasping her hands over her ears. It’s just like the other day in the Whispering Woods when her migraine intensified—

“Catra?” Adora calls out, squatting down on the ground next to her and putting a hand on her arm. “What’s wrong? Is it your head?”

She’s never seen Catra in pain quite like this. Arguably, she’s seen her _worse_ but this type of pain is different. It’s debilitating and leaves her defenseless.

She can only manage a vague nod at Adora’s question—but it’s all Adora needs to take action. The bright lights across the palace, the music, the noise from the partygoers, the general excitement of the day—it must be too much.

“Okay, can you walk?” Adora asks, forming the best exit strategy to get her out of here as quickly as possible. “You know what—I’ll just carry you inside. Is that okay? Would it hurt if I touch you?”

But, before Catra has the chance to respond they’re interrupted by distressed cries of partygoers. The sounds of canon fire and loud machinery descend upon the palace grounds and, looking up towards the source of the chaos, Adora feels her stomach drop when she sees it— _them._

The Horde.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> adora really held onto that headpiece shard for a long time we love a scavenging queen
> 
> also just a little heads up that the next ~2 chapters may be a little more angsty than usual !


	7. the side door

White noise abates ever so slightly, just enough for three prominent thoughts to repeat themselves on a loop in Catra’s mind.

She should’ve known better.

She should’ve seen this coming.

She should’ve stopped this from happening.

It’s just so incredibly obvious. The newfound silence from the Horde, the reason why they hadn’t been up to much other than lazily defending their borders—they were preparing. Stockpiling their resources for one, explosive, all-or-nothing raid.

There’s a thick haze over Bright Moon as bots and soldiers alike come in fighting. The Alliance is moving with rapid pace—a speed much quicker than her own, making quick work of getting civilians out of the way and to safety. Adora has already transformed into She-Ra, has already brought Catra over to the side of the castle—telling her not to move and that she’ll be back in a second.

Instantly, Catra fears the worst and her desperate eyes scan across the courtyard. Why else would the Horde attack Bright Moon on today of all days, on the day marking the return of the king if not to _kill_ the king himself?

She can’t just sit there, even if her movements feel slow and her vision is impaired by black spots. She can only hear muffled noises—shouts and the clanging of metal on metal. But she can’t just stay put, even if it’s what Adora asked her to do. Catra has to help, has to fight.

Or else the Horde will get exactly what they came here for. They’ll find to him, they’ll get to him and then he’ll be _dead_ and the fault will fall to no one other than Catra.

She only had been tasked two jobs during her time at Bright Moon: help the Rebellion defeat the Horde and plan this stupid fucking celebration.

Should’ve been easy enough for her to accomplish, given all of the things she had to juggle as second-in-command. And yet she’s failed on both fronts. Because she’s pretty sure no one on the Alliance had ‘Horde party crash’ on their vision board for this event.

And she can’t make out where Micah has gone. She sees almost everyone else, but the fact that she can’t pin down him or Angella sends pinpricks up her spine.

Flinching with the pain of just sitting upright, Catra powers through until she’s standing. She surveys the scene in front of her—sees Bow and Adora just up ahead and Catra nearly freezes when she takes in who they’re fighting against; Force Captain Octavia.

 _That’s_ a face she hasn’t seen in a while. Not since it was scowling down at her, reminding her how pathetic she was while tossing her onto Beast Island.

Anger pulses within her and instinctually, a flame rises beside Catra. If she can aim it just right, it’ll be enough to sweep out Octavia’s legs and give Adora an advantage—

But Catra doesn’t get the chance. Next thing she knows, she’s being thrown up against the window of the castle, breaking through the glass while the fire she’s conjured gets sent flying somewhere in Octavia’s direction. She thinks she hears the register of pain, of someone crying out, but doesn’t have the time to process it before she’s being yanked up off the floor by the collar of her shirt and shoved into the wall.

“Catra,” a voice, low and angry spits out, “Long time no see.”

She grunts in response, looking up to see who’s towering over her. It takes her a moment to weave through her disorientation, to get her vision to stop blurring enough to really take in the form above her.

“Lonnie?” Her eyes widen in surprise when her former teammate—her former soldier looks down at her with a scowl.

But Lonnie isn’t a solider anymore, she’s a Force Captain—if the shining badge on her belt is an indication.

Old habits die hard and Catra is nothing if not an expert at making dire situations worse for herself, “Guess they just give those things out to anyone these days, huh?”

Lonnie’s eyes narrow even further at her, pushing her up against the wall with even more intensity. “Like you would know.”

The external physical pain is a nice distraction from the white noise, allowing it to dissipate and fade into the telltale sounds of the battle going on outside. Until it’s just the two of them in this hall. Everything else is a bit muted.

Summoning her strength, she shoves back against Lonnie. The latter releases her, stepping back and evaluating her with stern, calculating eyes. Catra’s familiar with the look, the judgement from her. Having seen it too many times during trainings and simulations, she knows she’s being scanned right now for any visible weakness to exploit.

She hops to the side, scampering onto the railing by the staircase to put some distance between them. Enough to give her some time to talk.

“What’s your play here, Lon?” Catra smirks when the nickname elicits ire from her—brow twitching in irritation. “And hey, where’s the rest of the team? Rogelio and…what’s his name again? Lyle?"

Obviously Catra knows Kyle—has spat his name out and cursed it in every way imaginable for things that she can now realize were likely not his fault.

“It’s Kyle,” Lonnie spits out, extending the green light of her Horde staff, “But that’s none of your business.”

“Right,” Catra plays along, toeing against the railing. Lonnie doesn’t make a move, just watching her every step with careful eyes, “’Course it’s not. It is yours though, isn’t it? Let me guess, you’re head of the squadron now.”

“Someone had to pick up your slack,” Lonnie remarks, and Catra scoffs at that. What an interesting way to frame being sent off to die in the wilds of Beast Island—as _slacking_ off in her Horde duties.

But Lonnie always did think Catra was lazy.

“Hah. Right. I bet Hordak couldn’t wait to promote you, could he? Called you into his lair the moment I was gone.”

Lonnie smirks at that, “Pretty much.”

The confirmation doesn’t burn, doesn’t boil Catra’s blood as much as she might’ve thought. She’s grown accustomed now to being viewed as inferior by the Horde. Turns out that nearly dying before being exiled is really the bottom of the barrel—once that happens, there isn’t much that Hordak or anyone can do to really pierce her armor.

“And I bet you think that all that power is going to help, don’t you?” Catra cocks her head to the side, jumping off the railing and landing on her feet easily. 

Lonnie is different from Catra. Lonnie has always been a hard worker, following commands with a sense of duty only Adora could appreciate. Quite honestly, there was a point in time where Catra wasn’t sure who’d made Force Captain first: Lonnie or Adora.

And in terms of efficacy and competence, Lonnie has certainly earned the title. Lonnie has always been a threat to Catra. More useful, more compliant. Physically stronger, more agreeable. More likeable.

More _caring_.

But there are some similarities between the two, namely in survival instincts. And it’s no secret that power and protection go hand in hand in the Horde. Or so Catra used to think. Until she sat on all of that power, wielded it, did the very best she could with it before ending up with her hands bound and a mouth full of sand.

“I don’t have time for your games, Catra,” Lonnie’s voice is cutting, sharp. She won’t entertain Catra’s speeches, not like Adora had. “Hordak isn’t going to let up until we bring you back.”

And that is surprising information—is that really why the Horde is here? Is _that_ why they’re attacking? Not for Micah, but to capture her? Is this all because she had what, the audacity to survive Beast Island?

“Can I give you a bit of advice?” Catra asks, walking over to her—as though she has the power in this situation, isn’t the one under attack. “Y’know, Force Captain to Force Captain? Well— _former_ Force Captain that is.”

Lonnie draws the staff back, preparing to strike if Catra takes another step.

But she doesn’t even wait for Catra to take that other step—already going on the offensive and lunging forward. “I don’t need advice from _you_.”

She swipes at Catra, and the latter dodges easily—grabbing hold of Lonnie’s wrist.

“You think that power will protect you? Keep you safe from other Force Captains or Hordaks wrath?” Catra guesses, knowing she’s right when Lonnie’s face flashes with understanding, “You think, what, now that you’re a Force Captain, you can protect Rogelio? Kyle? _Yourself_? You’re wrong.”

At that, Lonnie swipes Catra’s legs, using the momentum to throw Catra down to the ground. She winces as her back collides with the wall again.

It’s what Catra thought. What she assumed. The Horde couldn’t hurt her, Shadow Weaver couldn’t hurt her, no one could hurt her if she outranked them.

But at the end of the day, Force Captain is just a title. So is second-in-command.

It doesn’t matter if anyone would’ve tried to warn Catra about that. She wouldn’t have listened. If she didn’t listen to Adora, she surely wouldn’t have listened to anyone else.

Back then, power was a matter of who could hit the hardest. Who could yell louder, bark out orders quicker, win the most victories, prove themselves the most.

But now Catra knows that isn’t what power is, not exactly. And the more Catra proved herself in the Horde, the worse off she became. The more distance she put between herself and the only people who could’ve actually had her back.

“What do you know?” Lonnie snarks, voice serious, “You’re a _failure_. You ‘re the one who went crazy when Adora left, let all of the power get to your head, only to desert us and take your friends with you!”

Catra’s laugh is embittered, dry, “ _Ha_. Me? Desert the Horde? Is that what Hordak’s been telling everyone?”

Would they even be here, right now if Catra had known how to desert the Horde? If she knew when or how to leave?

“It’s the truth,” she affirms, raising her hand to strike when Catra’s words stop her.

“Hordak sent me to Beast Island to die,” she says, and Lonnie’s fist freezes in place. Her eyes widen as she process what Catra says. “I didn’t _desert_ the Horde. And I didn’t take Scorpia or Entrapta with me. I let Shadow Weaver escape, and Hordak sent me off in her place.”

“What?” Lonnie asks, aghast—like this is the first time she’s hearing the news. But something about it must click for her, because she doesn’t make another move to strike.

“That's what I’m trying to tell you,” Catra bites out from her place on the ground, “I was his _second in command_ and all it took was one fuck up and he tried to have me killed. More than once.”

She winces, remembering the oxygen deprivation tank. Remembering Entrapta’s horrified cry—knowing it was the only thing that stopped Hordak from finishing the job right then and there.

“And you? You’re just one of his Force Captains. If he’s willing to do that to _me_ , what will he do to you if you fuck up? Or Kyle and Rogelio?”

“You’re lying,” Is the denial, the scathing accusation that comes her way.

“I’m not. Ask Scorpia for yourself,” Catra wonders, briefly—what exactly Scorpia is doing right now. If any other Horde soldiers are out looking for her as well. But more importantly—where is Micah? Where is Angella? She needs to get away from Lonnie and quick. Has to make sure everyone else is okay. “Or better yet, check the surveillance footage. See for yourself. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m only here because Scorpia and Entrapta defected and begged the Alliance to help me.”

She really isn’t supposed to be in Bright Moon. Even if the Alliance came to rescue her like Adora claims—she probably would’ve already been dead had Micah not been there to save her from the Pookas.

Among other things.

Lonnie looks a little less skeptical. She grew up the exact same way that Catra had—she knows what the Horde is capable of. How quickly the tide can turn against you. And maybe she’s even experienced it for herself. “Tch, and why _did_ the Alliance help you? After all you’ve done to take them down?”

“Beats me,” Catra answers honestly. She still doesn’t quite know. Her brain says it’s because she protected Micah. But the Alliance set sail before even knowing he was alive.

Scorpia and Entrapta wanted to rescue her. But, if she was being real with herself, she knows their attempts to persuade the Rebellion at large would never amount to much. Not if it wasn’t _Adora_ who really wanted to save her.

And why Adora advocated for her after everything she’s done, Catra will never understand.

Lonnie could strike again, but something in her hesitates. And this is, again, where she differs from Catra. At the height of her power in the Horde, Catra wasn’t interested in listening. Or considering a different perspective. She may have thought battle plans through, but never the personal consequence of her actions.

Lonnie does though.

“Listen. You really want to protect them? Your friends?” Catra asks using the moment to her advantage, “You need to leave the Horde. Get out while you still can. Before it’s too late.”

Lonnie’s expression shifts to anger at that. Distantly, Catra can hear concerned cries for her name outside. Her ears perk up when she can discern one among them very distinctly and it’s all she needs to know that Micah is okay.

Maybe the Horde wasn’t here for him after all.

“I’m not you,” Lonnie sneers, “I’m not a coward. I’m not going to run. And I’m not going to _fuck up_ like you did.”

Catra thinks she might’ve failed at changing her mind—at getting through to Lonnie, or at the very least warning her. Maybe it’s karma, maybe now she can understand a bit more of what Adora went through with her.

But the Lonnie steps to the side, leaving from for Catra to get up. She lowers her staff—like she won’t attack. Catra sees it for what it is—mercy. A free pass. She looks at Lonnie, surprise evident across her face.

“And I’m not going to lose myself in this war, either.” Lonnie asserts, the _not like you_ implicit. Catra hurries to her feet, hand wrapped protectively across her side, where she can already feel bruises forming.

She can respect that. Respect that Lonnie has moral boundaries and codes, even with her newfound power.

Still, she’s surprised that Lonnie is letting her go. She must know that whatever punishment Hordak has planned, whatever _revenge_ he has in store for her must be ugly. Ugly enough for Lonnie to offer her this chance.

Catra nods at her as she walks past, hesitant.

“He’s stronger now. Hordak. And he won’t stop—not until he takes the Alliance down,” Lonnie cautions, “But…he’s more interested in taking _you_ down first.”

“Figured as much,” Catra scoffs, hoping through the window she’d been previously sent crashing through.

The battle, for the most part, has seemed to clear itself up. The Horde is retreating—She-Ra, Glimmer, Scorpia, Netossa and Frosta pushing off the intruding soldiers until they retreat. While Perfuma, Mermista, Seahawk, Spinnerella and Swift Wind take care of the bots and ensure no further damage is caused.

Forlorn, Catra looks across the courtyard—now empty save for the fading smoke from the Horde. Chairs overturned, tables smashed. Flowers and decorations laying in tatters. All of that work—destroyed within seconds.

“Catra!” Micah’s voice, filled with relief, calls out. He starts approaching her, “Thank god. Where have you been?”

He’s still a few yards away when Catra turns her focus back to the broken window. Peering inside until she finds that Lonnie isn’t there—likely having taken off before she can get caught.

“Catra!” Angella’s voice calls out—panicked and anxious. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Angella running towards her and she nearly wants to roll her eyes. _So dramatic_. Clearly, she’s fine—

What Catra doesn’t see is a red dot, lined up with the center of her chest. What she doesn't hear is the small, high pitched noise the adjacent bot makes as it fires up, preparing a deadly blast.

But Angella doesn’t stop running, not as she approaches Catra, faster than Micah can. Instead, she tackles Catra to the ground, wrapping arms and wings around her and securing her head so it doesn’t collide with the hard earth below.

Catra grunts as she hits the ground—bewildered at Angella’s tight grip, until she hears it. The unmistakable pitched noise of a bot laser firing, the frantic cry from Micah—“ _Watch out!”_

But there’s nothing to watch, not now that Angella saved her from the blow. The noise of being so close to the blast would hurt her ears a lot more, if it weren’t for Angella holding her so closely.

After the laser fires, Angella loosens her grip, half sitting up and allowing Catra to do the same. With horrified eyes, they survey the damage done by the bot, just as Bow snags it with an arrow and renders it incapacitated.

There’s a massive hole burned through the castle wall, right where Catra had been standing. Debris and rock falling in its destructive wake.

That would’ve been Catra. If it weren’t for Angella. Hell, if she weren’t quick enough, that would’ve been Angella—

“What the hell?” Catra gasps, horrified. She pushes Angella away, angry for a reason she can’t quite name. “Why did you do that? That could’ve killed you!”

Cursing at Angella is a bad idea—given any ordinary situation, it’s not something Catra ever would dream of. But this isn’t an ordinary situation—it’s life or death. And she’s so _mad_ that Angella nearly got herself killed, just for her.

She isn’t sure why, but she feels betrayed somehow. How could Angella be so reckless-she could’ve seriously gotten hurt. And for _what_? To protect Catra from the blow of a bot? The technology the Horde wouldn’t even have their hands on if it weren’t for her?

“Oh, Catra,” Angella’s eyes are soft. She brushes Catra’s hair out of her face and evaluates her for any damage, “You still don’t get it, do you dear?”

“Get what?” Catra asks, eyes wide with horror. She gets it plenty now—gets how _wrong_ she was. How dangerous-how stupid-

“Angella? Catra?” Micah’s voice calls out as he hurries over to them, “Are you two okay?”

“We’re alright,” Angella responds—but Catra would much rather make the argument for the contrary.

She’s still in such a state of shock from everything—between the invasion, the way Lonnie let her go to how Angella almost just _died_ right in front of her. Died for her. To protect her. As if that wouldn’t have ruined Catra. She allows Angella to rise and pull her up.

Micah reports that they’ve pushed out the last of the Horde while Angella brushes the dirt off of Catra. It’s funny, how worried she was about the both of them just a few minutes ago. But now she feels nauseous. She can’t be near either of them, not when this sense of shame is crawling up within her. She can’t even look at Micah, not after all of the damage that’s just been done.

Adora—now back to herself, rushes over to them, hair disheveled and face pinched with worry. Her dress is fairly torn and Catra notices a large burn on Adora’s right forearm.

“Adora?” She calls out with worry, grabbing her arm once it’s within reach, “Are you okay-what? What is this? What happened?”

“I’m fine, are _you_ okay?” Adora tries to tug it away, deflecting the barrage of questions.

“Your arm—how? How did this happen? When? Was this a bot?” Catra questions, stomach churning. It looks _bad_. She looks up at Adora’s face, but doesn’t find that much comfort there.

Her silence is worse than the answer, somehow. She directs all of the intimidating energy she can muster towards Bow—who will either be too nice to ignore the question or too frightened. 

“Um. Uh—I think it happened when we were fighting Octavia…” he trails off and the pieces click into place. This was Catra’s work. Her magic. She hurt Adora—“And I think Lonnie had just attacked you! So of course your magic got a little out of control-“

“Bow!” Adora hisses, looking at him with angry eyes and betrayal deep in her tone. But how could Bow know? They’ve all accidentally wound up hurting each other—to varying extents but…still. Accidents happened all the time. It wasn’t the end of the world.

For anyone who isn’t Catra, that is.

“I…did this?” Catra’s hand drops Adora’s arm, horror seeping into her tone. _This_ is what she’d been afraid of, this is why she didn’t want to have _fire_ as her power. Fire hurts. Fire destroys-

“No, no,” Adora is quick to grab Catra’s again, cupping her hands over the latter’s, “I’m fine, Catra, I promise-“

“Don’t lie to me!” Catra cries, furious tears in her eyes and tugging her hand but Adora’s grip is too tight.

How could she let this happen?

“Kid,” Micah’s voice—normally enough to calm her down, is accompanied by his hand on her shoulder, “Adora is okay. It wasn’t your fault. Accidents happen—”

But he almost got hurt today too. Because of her.

“Don’t touch me!” She hisses, pulling away from both Adora and Micah as panic rises within her. She’s afraid, now. Of herself, of what she could do if anyone gets too close. Intentional or not.

 _This_ wasn’t an accident. The celebration is destroyed. Adora is hurt. Angella almost died trying to protect her.

The rest of the Alliance makes their way over, looking worn and tired. Everyone exchanges nervous glances as Catra steps backwards—away from them. Needing space and retreating into herself.

Adora clenches her fists, resisting the urge to reach out, Micah scrambles for something to say, to give Catra a moment to herself. Someone starts talking—suggesting they move this to the war room. But Catra doesn’t hear it. Just blindly follows the crowd as they make their way through the rubble feeling more lost than ever before.

* * *

The Alliance meeting does not go well.

It starts with a simple question: how did this happen?

Entrapta and Bow relay what information they could sleuth together, although it isn’t much. Rather obvious really. The Horde had used an estimated 70% of their frontline forces—far more than they typically deployed in battle. Between the soldiers and the bots, the guards surrounding Bright Moon didn’t stand a chance.

“Ugh,” Mermista groans, slumped from her chair, “ _Now_ do you see why we hate those stupid bots?”

It’s a pointed comment. Catra is just amazed they’ve gotten this far into the conversation without playing the blame game already.

Entrapta blinks at her as the implication sinks in, face turning red with embarrassment.

“Lay off Entrapta,” Catra snaps. She isn’t sitting at the table with everyone else, instead sulking in the corner. She doesn’t want to be near other people right now but doesn’t have much of a choice. She uses what little agency she does have to at least create some distance, though she didn’t miss Adora’s forlorn glance at the empty chair beside her. Or the pained stares Adora can’t help but send her way every time Catra so much as moves a muscle.

“We’re lucky more people didn’t get hurt,” Mermista grinds out. While her and Catra have become more amiable, it is far from a perfect friendship. “Because of the bots geek-princess created.”

“Hey—” Scorpia tries to intervene, but Catra cuts her off.

“Don’t blame _her_ ,” Catra commands and everyone stares silently at her, “Blame me. She was just doing what I told her to do.”

That causes an awkward air in the room. Before the attack, it was all just strategy on how to push the Horde back—how to defeat them. There were no offensive moves made on the Horde’s end, there was no need for anyone to confront their brute strength or the painful innovation behind their weaponry. As a result, The Super Pal Trio, as it were, faced little heat for the consequences of their actions—be it leadership, invention or complacency.

But Catra knows she was the real mastermind behind it all. Scorpia and Entrapta wouldn’t have been able to do whatever limited damage they were able to do if Catra didn’t push them. Didn’t drag them down with her.

And while she’s no longer interested in denying that fact or hiding from it, she’s definitely not interested in taking all the responsibility here.

“Actually, you know what—blame yourselves too, while you’re at it,” Catra huffs. She’s not sure where all of this anger has suddenly come from, but she feels the jagged heat of the emotion spiking through her. She’s pissed about a lot of things and she’s not about to let herself get walked all over by these stupid princesses. “Entrapta never would’ve had the chance to build those bots if you morons didn’t leave her behind in the _first_ place.”

There are a few murmurs, guilty stares swapped. Catra knows it was largely a mistake—but they’d taken so long to figure out Entrapta was gone. They were frustrated with her, too focused on themselves and left her behind.

And it isn’t fair to Entrapta. They don’t get to blame her entirely for this.

“Okay, this isn’t helpful,” Micah sighs. He can see where this conversation is headed, and no one is going to enjoy it. “Blaming each other-“

“Okay then, _fine_. By that logic, Adora should’ve just used her She-Ra strength to drag your ass here before you had the chance to get all crazy with revenge and build the Horde into what it is today!” Mermista’s words are violent, hurtful—but her tone is drab, matter-of-fact.

The only reason it hurts so much is because it’s _true_. Catra knows this, she’s come to the conclusion earlier herself but it does nothing to quell the anger within her. She resents the implication that she is just some _thing_ , some source of irritation that Adora could’ve soothed by dragging her along.

It’s all anyone will ever see. Not what Adora did wrong, not how Adora hurt her, but how grossly Catra overreacted in response. It’s not fair—part of Catra knows that much and is validated by the concerned stare that Micah gives her.

“That’s enough!” Adora slams her hands down and stands up, wincing when she puts too much pressure on her wounded arm, “Micah is right. Blaming each other isn’t going to solve anything. It’s only going to make us weaker. There are a…lot of things we all could’ve done differently.”

Adora sends her a sad, sad smile. Taking credit for her own actions but it does little to vindicate Catra. She just stubbornly turns her head to the side—she knows that this is Adora falling on her sword to protect her again. Just like she always has. Because that’s all Catra does, isn’t it? Cause trouble, make messes for Adora to clean up.

That is why she shoved Adora off of her back on Beast Island and told her that she wasn’t her problem anymore.

 _You were never my problem. How can_ you _not know that?_

The memory of that day in the library, of Adora vehemently denying that’s all Catra was, replays in her head. But Catra tries to shove it down, tells herself Adora was just lying.

Or maybe it was true at some point-but now she has to know for damn sure that Catra herself _is_ the problem.

“The Horde is a lot stronger than we thought,” Micah joins Adora in standing, looking exhausted. “We have our work cut out for us, clearly. We can’t waste time beating ourselves up over things that are well and done already.”

But it’s not done—Catra wants to argue. It’s so far from done. The consequences— _her_ consequences are just beginning.

“If we let them tear us apart, then they’ve already won,” Micah laments. “We need to get to the bottom of this. We have to figure out what they want, what they’re _planning_ -“

“They were here for me,” Catra explains, nails digging into the flesh of her arms where they’re crossed. “Guess they figured if you got off the island, so did I.”

Micah and Angella look to her then, the blood draining from their faces as fear takes over. Catra suspects they’ve discussed this as a possibility. An outcome to fear.

Adora’s voice is a thin mix of disbelief and concern, “What? How do you know that?”

“Lonnie told me,” Catra mutters, voice a bit softer—less harsh. Her anger has faded a bit, blazing out as quickly as it sparked within her, replaced with a fair amount of numbness.

“You spoke to Lonnie?” Scorpia gasps, excitement in her tone earning her a round table of glares. “ _Oh_ how is she? And the rest of the team?”

“Ahem, Scorpia,” Perfuma coughs next to her, urging her to stop. Scorpia’s lingering affection for the squad isn’t helpful to the current climate of the room.

“Yeah I spoke to her,” Catra drones, “Right after she threw me through a window. She’s doing real great. Made Force Captain now that you and I are gone.”

“That’s what happened to the window?” Angella’s appalled question comes, outrage evident. “She threw you _through it_?”

Angella looks like she’s about to move from her chair—re-examine Catra for any bruises. It’s clear that, while everyone was fighting today and sustained their own wounds, Catra got the brunt of physical combat. Catra’s face heats at the attention, at the way she doesn’t seem to care that Catra is the only reason they crashed the party—she’s just more concerned at Catra being hurt.

She’s thankful for the way Micah stops Angella with a gentle squeeze of her arm. Unsure if she could handle Angella being close to her—anyone being close to her right now. Angella was already too close to her today.

“I-it’s whatever. I’m fine,” Catra shuts in on herself a bit further, uncomfortable with everyone staring at her right now.

“Lonnie goes _first_ ,” Frosta says passionately, raising her fists and the air in the room shifts yet again.

Or maybe it doesn’t shift, maybe Catra just realizes there wasn’t any true animosity directed at her or any of the former Horde soldiers. There is just frustration—grief that none of them were able to stop what just happened. Irritation, perhaps, for the way they were all lured into a false sense of security.

No one needs clarification on where Frosta is referencing—but Glimmer doesn’t help simmer the fire, “Right. We’ll take out the newest Force Captain first—”

“Okay, no,” Catra says hastily, needing to clarify, but also in disbelief that she’s about to defend her lifelong competitor, “I mean. Yeah, she did that. She had me cornered and she told me that Hordak isn’t going to stop until he…gets me, or whatever the hell that means. But also…she let me go.”

Adora’s eyes widen—just as shocked as Catra was. No one gets her longstanding rivalry with Lonnie better than she, not even Scorpia.

“Clearly Hordak knows I’m a threat now that I’m not dead on some random island,” Catra continues, not missing the collective wince at her words, “Whatever he has planned…Lonnie obviously didn’t agree with. She didn’t even know I was banished. So she just let me go, because…I don’t know. She just did.”

It’s the nicest thing Lonnie has ever done for her. It wasn’t niceness though, not really. It was more akin to mercy.

“Well it doesn’t matter,” Micah says adamantly, tone fierce and protective. “Cause we’re not letting that happen.”

“What happened today isn’t going to happen again,” Adora mimics, “We’re not letting him near you.”

Adora’s eyes meet hers with that same, familiar blazing sincerity she’s had ever since they were kids. Ever since she called Octavia a dumb face or did anything to try to protect Catra.

Except Adora isn’t alone this time.

There are fierce whispers of agreement across the room. While everyone may be exhausted, they are still determined. Catra might’ve come to expect that headstrong determination, but never anticipated it’d be directed towards her in any positive way.

And Catra isn’t sure why that makes her so… _sad_. She feels undeserving—knowing all that she’s done. That the day was ruined not because the Horde wanted to take down She-Ra or spoil Micah’s return, but because _she_ was there. Because she survived, and Hordak wanted to correct that mistake. She hurt Adora. She almost got Angella killed. And yet here they are trying to protect her.

She doesn’t understand.

“We’ll have to amp up castle security,” Adora continues, thinking aloud, “King Micah, can you see if Casta can afford to keep a team from Mystacor here, just for a few days until we can form some type of plan?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Micah agrees. “For now, everyone should just stay here, we have more than enough guest bedrooms. We can all rest up and discuss strategy tomorrow morning.”

Everyone mutters their tired assent as the meeting diffuses. Knowing Catra still needs some space, Angella heads over to Adora, Glimmer and Bow who are looking over the burn marks on Adora’s arm—mentioning something about a healer. Adora isn’t really paying them much attention, instead her eyes are scanning the room, searching for Catra.

But Catra has already slipped away, into the shadows, silently padding into a quiet hallway. Careful to keep her movements muted, she hurries away from the members of the Alliance as they trickle out of the room, pairing off and going their separate ways.

She isn’t really sure where she can go now. She can’t go to her room, she knows for certain that Micah will find her there and force her to talk about her feelings. If she goes to the roof, he’ll find her there too. She thinks about the spire Angella showed her, but knows that’s too risky as well.

So instead she wanders around the castle, careful to avoid any spots where people may come looking for her if they feel so inclined. Part of her feels guilty for it, but a much larger part just feels so…well, terrible, is the only word that comes to her mind right now. She just needs a minute to wallow in it, to let herself think

* * *

The minute bleeds into several, then into much longer hours. She thinks exhaustion is the emotion she’s settled on, but she doesn’t want to go to her room. It’s not that late into the night yet anyway, everyone else is still awake.

She just doesn’t know what to do now at all, actually. What is she supposed to do? How does she fix this? Does she just show up tomorrow morning to the meeting and act like everything’s fine? Pretend she isn’t the reason that all of this is happening?

That’s what everyone wants her to do. Expects her to do. She knows that much. But she’s just not sure if she can fake her way through it.

“Catra?”

 _Ugh. God._ If she had any energy left within her, she’d roll her eyes.

“Catra! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. We need to get you to see the healer,” Micah looks slightly allayed to have found her, but still his face is pinched with worry.

“A healer?” She manages, turning to face him with her arms crossed, “I don’t need a healer, I’m fine.”

Fine is a bit of an over statement. Her whole body feels sore, and she isn’t sure if it’s from being thrown through the window or the second time Lonnie shoved her into the marble wall. Her shirt is torn and ripped—she doesn’t need to do a full body survey to know she’s littered with cuts and bruises.

“If you’re fine, then you wouldn’t mind getting a professional opinion and having the healer agree. Would you?” He challenges.

Micah had anticipated some resistance from her, especially seeing as she made herself so difficult to find in the first place. Angella had suggested waiting until the morning to speak with her and ordinarily, he would’ve listened but…he can’t shake the feeling of impending doom. It amplifies his need to find her, to talk this whole thing out—to _help_ her.

“Would you just lay off?” Catra snaps. They both know this isn’t about the healer. It’s more about the wounds that aren’t visible, the emotional toll and mental cartwheels she’s put herself through in the last few hours alone.

“No.” His voice is firm, unyielding. This is a moment where he knows he needs to push forward a bit, or else Catra will just push over him and isolate herself. He has to be obstinate. “Catra. You’re hurt. Be upset with me all you want, but we’re taking you to the healer.”

“I’m not going! They’re just a few scrapes, nothing major. Believe me, there has been _way_ worse.”

“So what? You’re just going to let them go untreated?” Micah is persistent, frustrated. His patience is thinner than normal after such a tiring day. “Don’t be ridiculous. Stop hurting yourself and let us help you.”

“Or else what?” She isn’t proud of herself, she feels like a child, but she just can’t take the help right now. “You told me I’m not a prisoner here. I don’t have to listen to you!”

Catra never did have to listen and they’ve only gotten this far because she cooperated. Because he promised her that there was a better life out here in Bright Moon, and he could show her if she complied. _But look at where that got us._

What if it had been worse? What if Angella wasn’t quick enough and her blood was on Catra’s hands? What if it had been _Micah_?

“Catra, please,” Micah implores her to cooperate, “I’m trying to help you—”

“I didn’t ask for your help! I don’t want it, I don’t need it.” It’s the furthest thing from the truth—couldn’t be more of a lie than it is in this very minute. She wants nothing more than to tell him everything, to share the guilt she feels because he’s always had a way of making it _better_. He’s done that ever since the first time she opened up to him on Beast Island.

But now letting him in, allowing herself to be vulnerable with him feels selfish. She has to push him away before he does wind up getting hurt.

“You don’t need to ask Catra,” He’s never gotten angry with her. Never gotten frustrated even if she failed fifteen times in a row at some sort of conjuring. He’s never raised his voice even if she was already yelling at him. He’s not doing any of those things now, either. But he’s speaking in the stern, authoritative kind of voice he used with Glimmer that day in the throne room. “I care about you. That's why I want to help.”

“Then stop caring!” She yells through gritted teeth, eyes watering.

If only it were that simple. If only he never cared—they wouldn’t be in this mess right now. She’s be somewhere on that island by herself—not really living but surviving nonetheless.

At least she wouldn’t be hurting anyone.

He flinches visibly at her words, face softening. “Listen kid, I know. Alright? I get it. It’s been a long day. You’re hurt and upset and telling yourself that this whole thing is your fault. And I know you won’t believe me right now, but it’s not. No one thinks it is, I promise. We all just need to get some rest, and things will feel better in the morning. We can figure it out together. Okay?”

“Stop acting like you know me,” Catra seethes. Maybe he does know her; gets her in a way that other people just haven’t before—was able to look past the defensive anger and the hurt and actually see her. But she feels bit irrational right now and he still just doesn’t get it.

He knows it’s just a defense, another mechanism to push him away. “You think I don’t _know_ you? That’s riduc-“

“No! You don’t. You still don’t _get_ it,” Catra rants. He’s never going to get it. Angella was wrong. It isn’t Catra who doesn’t understand…whatever this is—its them. “I’m not something you can fix!”

Maybe Catra can change. Can want to be a better person. Can actually try. But that doesn’t change the fact that all she was destined to do was hurt. Hate. Destroy. And still, despite the mounds of evidence in front of him, Micah refuses to accept that.

“Of course you’re not,” He agrees, “You don’t need to be fixed!”

She ignores him.

Until he accepts her for what she is—a broken, defective, ex-Force Captain everyone is going to keep getting hurt.

She decides to do something a bit drastic. It’s the opposite of what she truly wants. But thanks to Micah, thanks to the last few months she’s spent here, she understands that petty wants have to be outweighed by doing what is necessary.

“I don’t want this,” Catra says, trying to urge the tremble out of her voice when she fishes the pieces of paper out of her pocket. It’s a miracle they’re not torn or destroyed or have fallen out somewhere.

She shoves the papers at him.

The look on his face is a mixture of hurt, heartbreak and shock. Like he doesn’t quite know which one to land on. It only makes her feel worse.

Disbelief wins out. He knows he’s losing her, the bond that they’ve carefully cultivated over the past few months is getting shoved aside in her need to self-sabotage. “Come on Catra. You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”

She doesn’t look at him, eyes trained on the ground and fists clenched at her sides. This is hard enough. She can’t handle him questioning her fragile resolve.

“If this is what you want, _truly_ what you want, we’ll respect that. But, what changed? A day ago we felt this would be something you…might be interested in. Is this really all just because of what happened today?”

“Are you really that blind?” Catra snaps, finding her anger and focusing on it. “Nothing _changed_ , Micah! And that’s the problem, isn’t it? _I’m_ still the problem. I’m the reason all of this shit is happening and don’t you dare try to tell me I’m wrong!”

“What do you mean nothing changed?” His voice is incredulous, “Everything has changed! You’ve come so far and do you want to know how I know that? Because a few months ago we wouldn’t be able to have this conversation without your claws at my throat! Everyone sees how much you’ve grown, the only person who doesn’t is you!”

She’s so stuck, torn between wanting to push his words out of her mind and needing to believe them. Her chest heaves with the effort, the indecision weighing heavily on her shoulders.

Her silence allows him another moment to say, “You’re upset about what happened today? You’re worried about more people getting hurt? Don’t you see that’s progress in itself? I’ve told you before: bad people, truly bad people, don’t care about getting better.”

It’s tempting to believe him. To allow herself the slightest bit of grace and maybe accept the fact she isn’t the same person she used to be. She started to do that—before all of this happened. It was a hard, uphill battle to fight but…

 _No._ She can’t. She can’t let herself believe him anymore. The proof is all around them. The dust from the fall out, the broken party tables, the shattered window.

“That’s not the point!” Catra argues, “The point is…I never should’ve come here. You should’ve left me on that island like I _asked_ you to. So…thanks for the offer but this is… _isn’t_ for me. Alright? I can handle my own shit. I don’t _need_ your help-or you-or anyone.”

She narrows eyes at him until it’s just a glare. Her last attempt at pushing him away, but it looks like he finally gets the hint. Or at least accepts he won’t be breaking through to her. Not again.

“Okay, that's…okay,” he rubs a hand over his tired face, “I’m just…I’ll give you your space. Alright? We’ll talk about this more in the morning.”

He sounds uncertain, and she just turns her head away from him—not looking to confirm or deny. Truthfully, she won’t have much to say to him in the morning either. This is just step one in pulling back and pushing away.

She doesn’t look up at him as he walks away, only listening to his footsteps growing softer as he does.

It’s only when she hears a slow, dramatic clapping that she jerks her head up and looks for the source of the noise.

Shadow Weaver. 

“Well, well, well. I’ve got to say: I’m _very_ impressed,” She says, emerging from the darkened hallway with purposeful slowness. “You almost had even me fooled there for a moment.”

Catra’s heart is racing in her chest—this is just like in her dream. It’s just the two of them for the first time since Catra was in Shadow Weaver’s cell. Micah is long gone. There’s no one else here, no one to bail Catra out of trouble this time. Because she pushed them all away.

She’s alone.

And this time it isn’t just a dream. It’s real.

“You know, the way you’ve been going along with this whole charade for months now. Playing the poor little victim, pretending like you actually care for them, want to help them…” Shadow Weaver steps closer—and she looks nothing like she did that day in the cell. She’s healthy, much healthier than Catra could ever recall her being. “I was almost worried that the Horde lost their strongest Force Captain.”

“Don’t,” Catra backs away, “Don’t come near me.”

“Oh relax, dear. You’ve always loved to make a big deal of things, haven’t you?” Shadow Weaver croons, “But I know you well, Catra. I knew you were never truly going along with any of this—letting the Alliance _use_ you. And I knew you were certainly too smart to buy into Angella and Micah’s little parental ploy.”

Catra clenches her fist. At the mention of Angella and Micah, she can’t help but snarl, “ _Don’t_. Whatever game you’re playing here, I’m not interested.”

“Hmm. Touchy, are we?” Shadow Weaver mocks, “I’m merely trying to compliment you, dear. This has to be your greatest scheme yet.”

It has to be some sort of trap. One of her old tricks—Shadow Weaver has never been so complimentary to Catra, not for a single day in their lives. It isn’t genuine kindness—it’s nauseating and deceitful.

After experiencing what true kindness looks like, Catra feels well equipped to point out a dupe when she sees it.

“What are you talking about?” Catra spits out, defenses rising.

“Why, your little act. Pretending to fight for the Alliance, letting the _royal court_ think that they can control you—all so you could gain their trust and fulfill Hordak’s mission—hmm?” Shadow Weaver looks at her curiously, evaluating her. “You didn’t really believe I thought you had changed, did you?”

“What _mission_?” Perhaps Shadow Weaver’s little theory would actually have been a good plan—if Catra had thought of it. Had actually _wanted_ to do it.

“Oh. What?” Shadow Weaver blinks at her, pausing for a second before _laughing_ at her. Catra feels heat rise to her face in shame, “You mean to tell me that you seriously thought all of this was real?”

“Shut up,” Catra demands, turning to walk away—deciding she’s had enough of whatever the hell Shadow Weaver is talking about.

“You truly thought they cared about you?” Shadow Weaver asks, voice incredulous, “Certainly not King Micah or Queen Angella—what void in their life could you possibly think you were fulfilling? They _have_ their own daughter. And I don’t have to really remind you of how little you mean to Adora, do I?”

Catra had created her own warpath this time, beginning and ending with herself. She self-sabotaged, lodged the knife into her own chest and now Shadow Weaver is simply twisting the weapon. But Catra can’t… _won’t_ cry in front of her. Won’t give her that satisfaction, even if that’s all she wants to do right now.

“Just spit it out already,” Catra hisses, just wanting this to be over, “What do you want? You can’t…can’t manipulate me anymore. I’m not falling for it. So whatever you want, just say it.”

Shadow Weaver narrows her eyes at that, “Right. You’re too smart, aren’t you? Especially after being sent off to Beast Island…”

Catra doesn’t want to fight, she’s not even sure she has the energy in her for that right now. But her words, the betrayal, everything comes simmering to the surface and Catra unsheathes her claws before she has the chance to realize what she’s doing.

Sensing her patience is thin, Shadow Weaver cuts to the chase, “I really thought you were _better_ than this Catra. Better than falling for their fake pleasantries and naïve little promises. But…this isn’t about what I want, it’s about what _you_ want. What we both want. Freedom.”

_Freedom?_

“Surely you’ve figured out by now that we’ll never be able to leave here. Even after the war is long over, they won’t let us leave. The only difference between you and I is that they’ve elected to lie to you about it…” Shadow Weaver explains, “But…there’s a way out of this. For _us_.”

Catra can’t let herself believe any of that, but she knows that she needs to hear out whatever this is,“…I’m listening.”

“The Alliance thinks they’ve got this war already won,” Shadow Weaver sighs—like the thought is so pitiful it’s exhausting, “But…Hordak’s army is nothing compared to the full force of the Horde’s strength. He’s building a portal—and with it, he’ll bring forth the full might of Horde Prime’s militia. And when he does? The Rebellion won’t stand a chance.”

“Horde Prime?” Catra repeats. That name doesn’t sound familiar but it’s not like she had many heart-to-hearts with Hordak.

“Yes. Hordak’s brother, the leader of the true Horde—keep up dear,” Shadow Weaver chides, “He doesn’t even need the portal open for long—just long enough to send Prime a message, letting him know of his whereabouts. That’s all Prime will need to open his own portal and send his army through.”

“Okay…and what does this have to do with me?” Catra questions. She doesn't like the sound of any of this. She never knew what Hordak was up to in his secret sanctum—so Shadow Weaver might be right. She was always closer to Hordak and Catra has her suspicions that Shadow Weaver found someway to get back into his graces after she fled the Fright Zone.

“Patience. In order for the portal to work, he’ll need more power than the Black Garnet can provide. He needs the force of the strongest runestone in all of Etheria.”

_Adora._

“No,” Catra refuses, “You can’t—you’re not getting Adora. I won’t let you.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Shadow Weaver snaps, “We don’t _need_ Adora. Or She-Ra. We just need the Sword of Protection. I’ll never be left unattended long enough to grab it myself, or else I would have already. But you on the other hand…they seem to trust you.”

Eyes widening with realization, “What? What am I supposed to do—just walk out of here with it and into the Fright Zone? You saw what the Horde did today, the second Hordak sees me, he’ll kill me!”

“Not if you _help_ him, dear, he’s already promised me as much,” Shadow Weaver explains, “This is how we get our freedom. The Rebellion will be crushed in mere moments once Prime’s forces arrive. But if we help Hordak pull this off, he’ll grant us amnesty once Etheria falls to the Horde’s power.”

Shadow Weaver is earnest in what she says, at least about Horde Prime’s power. That much Catra can tell. If this is true…if she’s correct…

Catra surveys the castle, the damage sustained just from todays attack. She thinks about how much worse it could’ve been—how many more people could’ve been hurt. All of this destruction and it wasn’t even the full force of Hordak’s army.

If Hordak gets his hands on the sword, it’ll be a crushing victory. That’s indisputable.

Sensing Catra’s hesitation Shadow Weaver continues, “Need I remind you what happened today? The Alliance can’t protect you. You can’t protect them. If you sit on your hands here and do nothing, what happens when the Horde attacks again? Who else will get hurt? Because of you?”

Catra clenches her fists, thinking it over, when Shadow Weaver asks her one, final question:

“Haven’t the people you love suffered enough?"

* * *

Adora can’t sleep.

She huffs as she tosses and turns _again_. Frustrated with herself-frustrated with Bow for telling Catra what happened to her arm. Adora would’ve told her eventually. After she saw the healer. Before Catra could see the full extent of the damage and start blaming herself.

And now Catra is nowhere to be seen.

Well, that isn’t entirely true. King Micah had been by earlier, after many fruitless attempts to find Catra, and told Adora it would be wise to give her some space.

He looked pretty upset. Adora wanted to ask what happened, gain further insight and see if there was anything she could do—but the sad smile on his face told her it was best to leave it be for a minute.

But then Adora hears something—her bedroom door creaking open just slightly. She sits straight up, turning to look and letting out a long exhale of relief when she sees who it is.

“Catra?” Adora’s voice is surprised but hopeful.

“Hi,” She responds, hesitating in the doorway. Adora frowns at that. The reservation is very much unlike her and speaks to how wrong her demeanor is.

But still…she’s here. She’s in Adora’s room and she’s trying. That has to count for something.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Adora asks, moving to get out of her bed to get a better look at her. Or turn a light on. It’s just so dark in here, with the only illumination coming from the moon.

But Catra moves quicker, shuffling to the side of Adora’s bed and preventing her from getting up, “Relax, Adora. I’m fine. I’m here to check on _you_ , dummy.”

“Check on me?” Adora repeats, scanning Catra’s face. She knows something is wrong, and how could it not be, with everything that’s happened today? But Catra’s face is guarded and it’s harder than ever for Adora to discern what she’s thinking.

Catra raises an unimpressed brow, eyes flicking between Adora’s arm and her face and _oh._ “Catra. It’s fine, see-“

Adora tugs on her arms, urging her to look and examine the healer’s work. The burn has mostly entirely healed over, leaving behind an angry, red splotch in its place.

She’s met with silence, Catra turning her head away in what Adora assumes to be guilt.

“Listen, it’s okay. I promise. You didn’t mean for it to happen, and if I was paying better attention I could’ve—”

“How can you say that?” Catra snaps, “You shouldn’t have _had_ to pay attention to what I was doing! And yeah, I didn’t mean for it to happen—I didn’t mean for any of this to happen! But clearly that doesn’t matter.”

Fiery eyes meet hers again and Adora recognizes that look—she’s well acquainted with self-blame. She thinks she may know how to handle this.

“Catra. What happened today wasn’t your fault.” Adora states, maintaining eye contact to convey the truth behind her words. But Catra just looks away, unwilling to accept the gesture. “Look, I know it’s hard to believe but…even if you don’t believe it. No one blames you. And really…it doesn’t matter now whose fault it is. What matters now is how we handle it.”

Something in what she says resonated with Catra, because she looks down at Adora, blinking in surprise.

“What? I’m serious.”

“No-no I know. I just-that uh. That makes a surprising amount of sense. Actually.” There’s something more there, something that makes Adora want to press forward. But she doesn’t want to risk scaring her off.

So she goes for something more lighthearted, “Did you come in here just to make fun of me?”

Her tone is light and teasing and the way that Catra just frowns in response cements how very worrying her behavior is. “No…I was just worried about you. Go back to sleep.”

And Catra makes to pull away, but Adora doesn’t let her hand go. Doesn’t want her to go at all. “I wasn’t sleeping. I, uh, couldn’t sleep.”

“Hm, so that’s why there’s not a knife at my throat right now?” Catra mocks, slipping into the old demeanor just a bit. Any arrogance in her face slips away when Adora shifts over, leaving her room in the bed and patting it.

Catra doesn’t come in right away. Her eyes flicker to the door and to the bed—like she knows what she wants to do but is simply torn. Adora knows if the way Catra had spoken to her at their worst times across a battlefield is any indication of how she speaks to herself internally…then Catra will definitely need Adora to push a bit more right now.

Prove to her that is okay—that the only one who blames her for this mess is herself. Adora is less naïve than she was back when they were drawing up plans to rescue her from Beast Island.

She’s seen Catra’s scars close enough to know how deep they run. So she doesn’t expect Catra to believe her right away or to accept the truth even in marginal increments. She knows Catra hurts and has been hurt in ways that they haven’t even begun to unpack.

But she also has seen Catra heal. Become more of a person—more of herself than she was ever allowed to be in the Fright Zone. Has seen her laugh without fear of being scolded for being too loud, spar and train without fear of being torn down by abusive power figures. She’s seen Catra _live_ past the hurt, seen the wonderous things that the right amount of time with the right kind of people can do.

So unlike a few months ago when she anticipated Catra being _somewhat_ glad to see her on Beast Island, she does not expect Catra to crawl into her arms and fall asleep immediately. Or to be forgiving and kind to herself.

And that is okay because it’s something they can work towards. Micah was right—there’s plenty of time for everything. Right now all they need are baby steps; all Adora needs to feel content is to know that Catra is willing to try.

Even if she just squeezed Adora’s hand and said, _I just need time to myself right now_ and politely rejected the offer that would be enough. More than enough, really. So long as she doesn’t shut Adora out and close herself off entirely.

Much to Adora’s relief, Catra’s resolve fades and she crawls into the bed next to her. In a reversal from the previous nights they’ve shared, Catra is the one who pulls Adora into her arms—holding her with a firm grasp, like she doesn’t want to ever let go. And it’s curious, but Adora reckons that it just might be what Catra needs right now; to hold instead of be held.

And Catra is as good of a holder as she is a hugger. Or maybe Adora is just biased and finds any comfort in Catra’s arms now. But regardless, Adora settles against her, shifting to make sure she doesn’t put _too_ much weight on her—Adora has always been more muscular and strong where Catra has been lithe and agile.

This is all new for her. She’s not used to being the one held. Not used to the gentle touches or the warmth of another body next to her. Part of it is exhilarating because it’s Catra, but another part of it is what puts her at ease. The comfort in knowing that Catra is here, she’s okay and she’s safe enables Adora to let her guard down and let herself feel tired.

The feeling of Catra’s hand rubbing light circles on her arm—like she’s trying to heal the damage she’d _accidentally_ inflicted and the promise of tomorrow being another day, another step forward, another chance to make things _better_ is what finally gets Adora to sleep.

The problem is that ‘tomorrow’ can be misleading, offering more than what can actually be given. Mornings are not always kind and bright and brimming with possibility. There is not always an infinite amount of time for us to right our wrongs.

Adora will find this to be true when the early morning light breaks through and illuminates the empty space next to her.

Catra’s old habits won’t break as easily as anyone may have hoped. Her claim of visiting Adora just to make sure she was alright was a boldfaced lie; Catra had only come to say goodbye.

Once she’s certain Adora has fallen asleep, she shifts ever so slowly away, careful not to rouse her. Before she parts completely she decides that one final, selfish act is permissible and leaves a gentle kiss on Adora’s forehead.

Lingering for a moment she allows herself to be cruel to herself, to wonder what it would be like if she could stay. If she didn’t have to worry about Hordak’s plans or how very little happiness she deserved.

She imagines countless nights in Adora’s bed, each accompanied by the assurance of mornings-some more chaotic than others. Where she walks down the hall and into the castle—takes a seat next to Micah at breakfast and makes thinly veiled jokes at his expense with Glimmer. A world where Angella can explain more than just the lights of distant villages to her; she can explain more of Bright Moon’s history, talk about the wars they’ve won before.

She’d take Mermista’s seat at an Alliance meeting just to mess with her—just until Adora walked in because _obviously_ she wasn’t going to give anyone else the opportunity to sit next to her. She’d push Frosta away and promise to spar after trying to explain to Bow how to translate some of Entrapta’s less-comprehensible rantings on tech.

Catra would get to live every day as she had before. Walking with Micah to the library to study or to the training grounds. Holding back her laughter as she watches Perfuma try to enlist Scopria’s help with gardening—egging Spinnerella on to challenge Netossa. Catching secret glimpses of Adora, watching her smile and laugh or do something stupid—but every day would always end here. In bed next to her.

Long gone are the times where Catra would let herself believe in such fantasies. Or let herself have hope.

She may have dropped her defenses enough to let people in enough to actually care about what happens them, but that’s where the line is drawn. She just got too lost—too caught up in a daydream.

Reminding herself of this, she pulls away from Adora and walks over to the desk where Adora placed the sword.

She meant what she said to Micah, tonight and that first night on Beast Island. He is from Bright Moon. She is from the Horde. And this life is not for her. This happiness is not what she deserves.

Reminding herself of this, Catra grabs the Sword of Protection without another moment of hesitation.

And in the heavy silence of the night, she flees Bright Moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shadow Weaver Shut the Fuck Up Challenge 2021


	8. get your knuckles bloody

“You’re lying.”

It isn’t a question or an accusation that leaves room for argument. It’s a simple statement of truth.

Because…Shadow Weaver _has_ to be lying. There’s no way that what she’s saying can be true, there’s no way that Catra would just up and leave in the middle of the night. She just wasn’t there when Adora woke up because…because she had something to do. Maybe she had to go talk to Micah or Angella and forgot to mention it, but she didn’t—wouldn’t just leave.

But…as Adora reads the room, takes in the worried and tired faces of both Angella and Micah, she knows they haven’t seen Catra either.

No one has seen Catra—that’s kind of the point, Adora has to remind herself. That's why they’ve spent the last two hours scouring the grounds looking for her, leaving no stone left unturned. Guards were useless, claiming they hadn’t seen or heard her either.

“Catra wouldn’t just-she’d never just leave,” Adora says with a tightness in her chest. It can’t be true. Catra hated being left behind, why would she ever turn around and do the same to someone else? To everyone here? To _her_?

Her pleading eyes fall to Micah, silently begging him to confirm; to tell her that she’s right and Catra wouldn’t just _do that_. He looks just as skeptical as Adora feels, but he hesitates.

Something must’ve happened between the two of them last night to give him pause like this. To doubt Catra, who he’d normally whole-heartedly defend.

“King Micah, please.” Adora whispers.

“I don’t want to believe it either, Adora,” He sighs in empathy, “But we’ve looked everywhere and there’s no sign of her. We have to…entertain all possibilities. As much as it pains me to say.”

Part of Adora knows that’s true, that he’s right and they have to at least…consider the fact that maybe she _did_ leave if they want to figure this out. Stubbornly, she resists the idea because it hurts to Catra could do that…

“Fine. If that’s true, then something must’ve happened to her,” Adora grits out, eyes blazing. “Something had to make her leave.”

“If?” Shadow Weaver cackles from where she stands, guards at her sides tensing, “Oh, Adora, you were always so slow to see what’s really right in front of you. Especially blind whenever it comes to Catra.”

Angella opens her mouth to defend both of them, but Adora doesn’t give her the chance, “I _know_ Catra! And I know you’ve always done everything you could to pit us against each other. But I’m not letting you do it this time.”

That had become so obvious the longer Adora spent time in Bright Moon. She’d hear Glimmer and Bow recount tales of growing up together, of getting into trouble or messing around in the castle. And she’d always pause, always wait for it, for the part of the story where Angella or some other authority figure punishes them. For having fun. Or being too close. Or…anything, really.

When that moment never came or when Glimmer and Bow would give her a wide-eyed stare as she shared her own memories, she thought it was just them. Just the two of them who grew up with extremely _nice_ circumstances. They were the anomaly.

But the more people she met, the more she realized that her experience was the outlier. It wasn’t normal for someone to direct affection and praise towards a child only to highlight the abuse and neglect for another. Wasn’t normal to leverage that abuse or the _bond_ between two children to manipulate them into compliance.

In hindsight, it really is no surprise that their friendship had oxidized as quickly as it did when Adora left the Fright Zone, leaving Catra to their abuser.

Adora and Catra were Shadow Weaver’s pawns, and this became especially true when Shadow Weaver escaped the Fright Zone. Running to Adora, making Adora feel like she could do something good, be the hero—only for Catra to face the harshest punishment for it.

But Adora would be damned if she let Shadow Weaver come between them again.

The sorceress just narrows her eyes at Adora, cold and calculating. Like she’s planning what to say next.

“Adora’s right,” Glimmer speaks up, “Catra didn’t want to leave Bright Moon. And she’s _Catra_ so she wouldn’t just go even if someone told her to. Something or someone must’ve…I don't know. Done something to change her mind!”

“I’m sorry, are we all just gonna ignore the fact that A) Horde attacked us like, yesterday? Like hours before she went missing? And B) they said they wouldn’t stop until they killed her. So like…could it be anymore obvious?” Mermista points out.

“Catra isn’t afraid of the Horde,” Glimmer scoffs. “How could she be? Not when she has _us_ to protect her.”

“Yeah but look at how well that turned out,” Mermista laments.

“Unless…she didn’t leave. Not willingly,” Bow theorizes, “What if we didn’t actually clear the entire perimeter? What if one of the guards came in and grabbed her? None of us saw her after the meeting—”

“I did,” Micah confesses, eyes guarded, “Briefly.”

“So did I,” Adora adds before she can think better of it. “She came to my room. And, um, she fell asleep there. But when I woke up this morning and she was gone.”

But now that Adora thinks about it, she knows that _she_ fell asleep. She’s not so sure about Catra.

And she knows Catra had been acting strange ever since she came into the room, but Adora assumed that was just because of everything that happened yesterday. Not because she was…up to something.

Suddenly, it clicks. Catra’s morose silence, her hesitation to stay, the way she held Adora. Obviously if Adora held her, Catra would’ve had a harder time slipping away…

She did say she was only there to see if Adora was okay. Was it just so she could leave on a clear conscience? To head out of Bright Moon, knowing she didn’t hurt Adora too badly?

Adora feels her face heat up. And it has nothing to do with the way everyone is staring at her for admitting that they spent the night together.

It’s because she was wrong. Catra wasn’t there to open up to her-to _try_. It’s because she wanted to make sure that Adora wouldn’t catch her when she left.

Catra played her. And she fucking fell for it. Again. Like always.

Micah must register the look on her face, because something shifts in his expression as well.

“You two had a sleepover?” Frosta exclaims. Either in shock or disappointment that she wasn’t invited.

“Enough of this,” Shadow Weaver mutters impatiently. She takes a piece of paper and slams it down onto the table, sliding it down to the end. “If you really don’t believe she would leave, then read it for yourself.”  
  


_Micah,_

_I have to go. I told you that I’d give this a shot but we both know I don’t belong here._

_Sorry for wasting your time._

_-Catra_

The note had been hidden, stashed away in Catra’s vanity ever since the library incident. Shadow Weaver, unaware of how or when, knew holding onto it would eventually pay off.

The stunned look on everyone’s faces upon receiving their confirmation that Catra had, in fact, fled Bright Moon was more than enough reward.

“And if you’re curious of as to where she went, I’d look no further than the Fright Zone,” Shadow Weaver croons. “She is a creature of habit, after all.”

“That makes no sense, Hordak is trying to kill her,” Scorpia advocates as the only one who’s capable of speaking right now. “She’d never go back there!”

“How did you get this?” Micah asks Shadow Weaver, jaw tight. It’s Catra’s handwriting, that's for sure-but he’s doubtful that she would’ve entrusted _Shadow Weaver_ to deliver the note.

His question goes ignored and Angella whispers something to him, but he isn’t listening.

“Hordak would never hurt her,” Shadow Weaver disputes, “Not when she’s of value to him.”

“Um, he just tried to kill her like, _yesterday,_ ” Mermista argues.

“Right. And how would she be of any more value to him today than yesterday?” Perfuma questions.

“She’s not on your side anymore, is she?” Shadow Weaver returns, tilting her head in question. “Now that she’s fully defected, her knowledge of the Alliance is of great use to Hordak.”

That isn’t entirely wrong. Catra had been so involved in battle strategy that she’d actually started shifting gears toward reconstruction plans. She knows the ins and outs of every move the Alliance could possibly make. If anything, Catra has never been more valuable to the Horde. 

“So what? This was all some-some elaborate plot to get us to trust her? So she could plan out how to win the war?” Glimmer theorizes—eyes hardening at the prospect of being played for the fool.

Silence falls across the table as everyone considers it. Adora still doesn’t want to believe it. But she didn’t want to believe Catra had even left this morning. Or that Catra would choose to stay in the Horde or ever even become her enemy…and she was wrong about all of that.

But Catra changed. Things were different—they were supposed to be better. Was Catra really just playing the long con this entire time? Was any of it _real_?

Warnings from her friends about managing expectations and about how Catra had hurt her before in the past all come swirling to the forefront of her mind. But what about the Ivy Runes? Why did…why would Catra defend her to Micah and Angella, seek her out in the middle of the night for comfort—say _yes_ to going to the celebration with her for just to betray them? She didn’t need to lead Adora on to be Hordak’s spy.

Unless leading her on was just an added bonus. Maybe Catra truly hated her so much for leaving that she decided to go the extra mile and really make her pay; finally getting her revenge by breaking Adora’s heart.

“Are you truly that surprised? You’ve all faced her in battle before, have you not? After all this time, you still don’t know what she’s capable of?” Shadow Weaver tsks.

 _No_. No. Catra wouldn’t—Catra couldn't hurt her like that. Maybe before they starting chipping away at the divide between them…before they had their moment in the runes. Catra had also been worried that Adora hated her and was afraid of getting hurt by her again. If she really wanted to hurt Adora, why would she do it now?

So maybe Catra left and maybe she returned to the Fright Zone, but it couldn’t be to _hurt_ Adora. Or…even if it could, she wouldn’t do it knowing it would also hurt Micah and Angella. Would she?

Shadow Weaver turns her attention to the Queen and King, “You two should’ve known better. I did try to warn you. Tell me Micah, how are those lessons paying off for you, now? Now that you know just how useless-”

“That’s enough,” Angella snaps, “I warned you before about speaking ill of her in our presence. Guards-“

“Oh, but I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?” Shadow Weaver challenges, “Despite your best attempts, she’s still not a member of the royal family. I do believe she flat out rejected the offer, isn’t that right?”

The guards circle Shadow Weaver, prepared to escort her out of the room as Adora and Glimmer look at Micah in shock. He hadn’t disclosed that information to either of them—didn’t let them know that Catra turned their offer down.

Shadow Weaver continues to taunt Micah, “Really, Micah you never know when to quit, do you? She said she didn’t want to be part of this….said this life just wasn’t for her. That she didn’t need you, or anyone-“

“ ** _Enough_**.” Micah’s voice cuts her off. With wide stares, the room follows the trace of purple magic to where Shadow Weaver is suspended, frozen in place. “I don’t know what you’re up to—but I’m not allowing it to go on. Guards-get her out of here. And if I find out you’ve done _anything_ to hurt Catra…”

“You’ll need far more than a mask to cover the damages.” Angella concludes, squaring her shoulders next to Micah.

And with that, he releases his magical hold on her voice. It was not offensive magic, not cast with the intent to inflict any sort of harm. But it was enough to leave her winded, falling to the ground upon release. Immediately, two guards pick her up on either side of her arms, just as she begins to cackle.

The door is not yet closed behind her when they hear her say,

“Too late.”

* * *

Once out of the pan and into the fire, Catra finds the grimy floors of the Fright Zone to be colder than she remembers. 

Perhaps she just got too acquainted with the purity of Bright Moon’s air, but the smog feels extra thick around her throat. There’s too much humidity too, clinging to the air and highlighting the stench of burning metal and frayed wire.

Wary and tired feet pad silently across darkened hallways that she knows better than the back of her own hand. Even as a Force Captain, she was known for sneaking around the grounds, wondering what she might be able to uncover if she remained unseen.

But today the stakes are higher. Fatalistic, even.

Knowing this doesn’t do much to deter her from taking a moment to pause when she catches sight of herself on a reflective scrap of metal. Time is truly of the essence, and getting stuck squeezing past rows of storage boxes won’t help her ultimate plan but... something about her reflection is shocking.

It’s almost like a part of her expected to see herself as the second in command; wild, untamed hair held back only by her headpiece with her same, old Horde uniform on.

Blinking away the image of her old self she takes in the sight of her clothes from Micah’s celebration, a bit torn and weathered. Her ponytail in a similar state, just slightly messier than her usual—the way Angella had taught her to style it. And the only part of her headpiece that’s left is the shard that hangs from her neck.

Maybe it was wrong of her to take it with her. Maybe she should’ve left it in Adora’s room - on the pillow in the absence of her warmth as a final apology.

Shifting her gaze, she catches sight of the sword, strapped to her back and swallows thickly. She has to stay focused. Without really thinking about it, her hand wraps around the shard—the smoothed edges of it grounding her, reminding her of what she needs to do. Of who she needs to be.

If she does this right, everything will fall into place perfectly. There will be no bloodshed on Bright Moon. And all will be as it was before she arrived. Or better, actually, with Micah back. Once they restore the castle grounds, there will be nothing out of place and everything will be whole again.

She tries to push down any ridiculous thoughts that her brain conjures, like how the Alliance won’t be complete without her. It’s far too late to bog herself down with foolish hopes and wishful thinking now.

They don’t need her. They have Adora. They have She-Ra. Even if Catra fails—and she can admit the odds aren’t exactly the greatest, the Horde will be weakened. Adora is more than capable of finishing what Catra starts.

Plus Adora will have the help of the Alliance, which Catra can admit is the strongest it’s ever been. And they have _Micah-_ and Catra’s grip on the necklace tightens at the thought of him.

Part of her hopes he won’t regret all that he’s done for her. She didn’t want to hurt him. She regrets that her last words to him had been so callous. And if that wasn’t enough, he must’ve been pained by the way she slipped away, silently into the night.

Goodbyes were a luxury she couldn’t afford.

While it’s true that she’s left Bright Moon with no hope of return, she isn’t so certain she’ll be leaving the Fright Zone.

Long gone are the days where Catra will do something as foolish as _believe_ Shadow Weaver. Her former mentor—if she could even be called that, would never just offer her a way out. An easy escape or a ticket to freedom.

What she _would_ do is throw Catra into a pit of open fire and leave her to burn.

Narrowing her eyes, she tears herself away from her reflection and carries on down perhaps the most familiar hallway.

Catra has a few tricks up her sleeve now. She’s learned enough magic to know how to wield it and protect the people she cares about.

Unquestionably, Shadow Weaver is lying to her about something- but not about the force or might of Horde Prime. Catra knows that if Hordak opens that portal, everyone is as good as dead.

But it doesn’t have to be that way. There doesn’t need to be anymore carnage. Catra can stop it, once and for all.

Maybe it won’t balance out her ledger, maybe no one will ever even know what she’s done, but it’s the only act of service she can offer.

But, before then—before facing off against Hordak, there is one thing left to do: A debt to repay, a favor to return.

“You need to get out of here,” Catra announces, nonchalantly enough to make the only three people in the room _jump_ at the sound of her voice.

It’s comical, really. None of them know what to do—they hadn’t heard Catra creep into the locker room and they certainly didn’t _see_ her until she decided to make her presence known.

They flail around for a few seconds, unsure of whether to go into defense mode and it’s good to know that even Force Captain Lonnie can still sputter as helplessly as Kyle and Rogelio.

“Relax, I’m not here to attack,” Catra says before a wicked sort of grin falls across her face, “Well, not any of you, at least.”

“Are you stupid?” Is the response that Lonnie eventually settles on. “I risked my _ass_ to let you go yesterday and you just run back here?”

“Catra?” Kyle’s voice is astounded, “What are you doing here? Lord Hordak is going to kill you if he sees you!”

“I’m here to give you a warning,” Catra repeats. Ghosts of anger, frustration over noncompliance and idiocy flow over her, “Get out of here before it gets ugly. And it’s about to get _real_ ugly.”

“What are you talking about? And why should we listen to you?” Lonnie crosses her arms, but doesn’t make a move to attack.

“Because I know about the portal, Lonnie,” Catra spits out—the formers eyes widening in response, “And I’m here to stop it. And I know _you_ know enough about it to know you’re not going to want to be around when I do.”

Cautiously, Lonnie eyes over Rogelio and Kyle. She must be considering what Catra had told her yesterday—how to actually protect the people she cares about.

“And where are we gonna go?” Lonnie sighs, her squad members looking at her like she’s crazy.

But there’s that understanding between them—her and Catra. It is nothing close to respect or gratitude, but it is blazing honesty trailing on what little embers of trust linger between them.

“Bright Moon,” Catra answers simply. When the three of them look like they’re going to laugh in response, she jumps in, “Help them. Tell them all the shit you know and they’ll grant you amnesty. Even if they don’t, being a ‘prisoner’ there is better than being a Force Captain here. Take it from me.”

And this part especially hurts. She looks directly at Lonnie, sincerity unwavering in her voice, “I'm serious. I was their battle strategist. They’re going to need someone else to fill—to step into that role. Trust me, those princesses don’t know shit about battle tactics. And if you go now, willingly, and offer to help…you know Adora won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

It’s more than a chance to escape. It’s an offer for a better life. In the off chance that Catra has left a void in the Alliance, maybe Lonnie can fill it.

Distantly, she feels a bit jealous. They get to walk away. They get a clean slate. Lonnie will fill her seat at the table. Maybe she can even grow to joke with Princesses, maybe she can guide their meetings without insulting anyone. Maybe they’ll get to know Lonnie and realize that underneath it all, she’s a fair bit more tolerable than Catra.

Maybe Micah will have someone else to walk around Bright Moon with. Angella will have someone else to tell stories to. And Adora…

 _No._ Catra won’t allow herself to feel sad. Or jealous. She’s done this to herself, after all.

“You’re serious,” Catra isn’t sure if it’s a question or an observation from Lonnie. “Why are you helping us?”

“Because you were right,” Catra grits out. This is _hard_. Micah’s voice echoes in her head, telling her it was never supposed to be easy, “I…after Adora left….after how I treated you guys… you still let me go yesterday. So I’m telling you: Get the fuck out of here. Go to Bright Moon, get your amnesty and never come back to this place. Got it?”

It’s the closest thing she can get to an apology. But it’ll have to do.

“You have five— _maybe_ ten minutes if I take my time,” Catra says in parting, turning her back to return into the shadows.

“You have the sword?” Kyle’s voice is astounded once he notices the hilt.

“Something like that,” She says, laugh dry and voice hollow.

She hears them mutter amongst themselves she makes to walk away. Reminding herself that this is the right thing to do. It’s hard. But it’s right and it needs to be done.

Lonnie can even serve as extra insurance that the Rebellion will be okay. Even if Catra doesn’t succeed today, the Rebellion’s odds of winning the war may tip back into their favor with Lonnie on their side.

Before Catra disappears entirely, steeling herself to return to what may ultimately be her metal coffin, Lonnie asks, “Any message you want us to deliver?”

It may be more than she deserves, but if Lonnie is offering…

“Tell them I’m sorry.”

* * *

After Shadow Weaver’s departure, the war room descends into chaos.

It isn’t clear what the group at large thinks. There is no general consensus. All they know is that, clearly, Catra has left. What her agenda is remains widely uncertain, and there are compelling arguments from both sides.

“Right. I’m not saying she like, was working against us the whole time she was here. I’m just saying we’ve been tricked by her before,” Mermista points out. “If Lonnie gave her this opportunity wouldn’t she be stupid not to take it?”

“Yes, but before we weren’t her friends!” Perfuma points out, “She doesn’t want to hurt us and look at how upset she was when she hurt _Adora_ on accident!”

Adora isn’t so sure she appreciates the emphasis on her name, like if Catra is concerned about hurting her then she’d be concerned about hurting anyone. But, as the target of most of Catra’s attacks at the height of her Horde glory, Adora supposes it makes sense.

“Clearly Catra doesn’t care about hurting people,” Glimmer huffs, attitude gone wildly sour, “ _Clearly_ she can just rip things up and not even care! She can just leave without saying goodbye! Because she ‘doesn’t need us’, even though all we wanted to do was help her! And support her! And _maybe_ play board games! Or do those stupid family portraits! Or raid each other’s closests-“

“O _kay_ ,” Bow puts a hand on her shoulder, “You might be a little too close to this.”

“Ooooh me? Close with Catra? No way! Impossible!” Glimmer rants, sarcasm dripping from her voice, “If we were _close_ she wouldn’t have just left!”

“I don’t know if this is a bad idea…but maybe we should go after her?” Scorpia suggests, voice timid, “I mean-I definitely don’t think she’s going to rejoin the Horde. But, uh, maybe…we need to find her and just talk to her? Not all of us but…just to get some answers.”

“The likelihood of Catra leaving Bright Moon and rejoining the Horde only to betray the people she’s grown rather attached to is a staggeringly low 13%,” Entrapta reports, “10% of that stems from how turbulent her relationship with Queen Angella and King Micah’s daughter is. It appears the princess was rather jealous and posess—”

“My name is Glimmer! How do you keep forgetting that?” Glimmer interrupts, offense wild in her tone.

Bow intervenes, “I think no matter _what_ we need to find Catra. And in the extremely unlikely case that she is planning to betray us and spill all of our secrets to the Horde then maybe at least we could stop her?”

“We’ll find her and we’ll take her back here! Whether she likes it or not!” Frosta exclaims, fists encased with ice as she jumps on the table. “Little sister _and_ prisoner! Then she’ll have to show me how to make ice claws!”

The discourse continues from there, but Adora hasn’t been listening to much of it. She’s still trying to make sense of it all for herself. Catra left—and that truth is ringing in her brain on repeat.

They just need to figure out why before they can plan what to do next.

“Adora? Are you alright?” Angella has noticed her silence and Adora turns to look at both the King and Queen.

“I’m fine,” She assures a bit too quickly, “But, King Micah, what happened last night with Catra? I mean, she came into my room and I could tell things were off but I thought it was just because of…er, everything.”

“We weren’t aware you two were sharing a room,” Angella responds diplomatically casting a weary eye to Micah, “Perhaps we should’ve redistributed the guards-“

“No, no—I mean, no! It’s not like that,” Adora is quick to elaborate, “Back in the Fright Zone…we just…ever since we were young we always shared a bed. Especially if one of us was really upset and so-”

Micah sighs, “It’s okay, Adora. Even if we had more guards stand post outside of your room, she still would’ve found some way out.”

And that is true. Catra is nothing if not resourceful, a skill only heightened by her determination to complete a goal. And obviously, Catra has her mind set on something, even if they can’t figure out what it is.

“I pushed her too hard,” Micah relays, guilt weighing heavily on his face. “Last night. After I found her, we got into an argument and…I just felt like I couldn’t let her _be_ and keep beating herself up over everything but…I pushed her too hard and she told me that she never should’ve come to Bright Moon. She said nothing has changed for her.”

Adora’s face must look crestfallen at that, because Angella is quick to intervene, “Now, we’re _sure_ she didn’t mean it. She just had to be…overwhelmed. A lot has happened in the last few days—I spoke to her the night before the celebration and was worried we were _ashamed_ of her. She was so certain of it…perhaps offering to adopt her was too much. Too overwhelming. And then for the Horde to attack - it’s a lot for anyone to go through.”

“That’s what I don’t understand,” Adora frowns. She didn’t know Catra had thought anyone here would be _ashamed_ of her. It’s an overtly harsh and self-depreciating thought. While she knew Catra could cut herself down more than anyone else, that thought doesn’t feel like something she would’ve landed on herself. Tears of frustration and confusion well up in her eyes as she speaks, “If she really…didn’t want this and just wanted to leave Bright Moon, why would she come to my room? I didn’t expect her to-not after everything. But she came to me and I thought that was a _good_ thing. She hasn’t tried to open up to me or even wanted to anything to do with me until we went to the Ivy Runes. I thought it meant that she was _trying_ and we were actually moving forward but of course I was wrong, she was just using me and now she’s _gone_ -“

She’s pulled out of the spiral she hadn’t even realized she begun when Micah comforts her with a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Adora. I know it’s hard right now and things don’t look _great_. But I- _we_ believe in Catra. She wouldn’t put in all of this work just to throw it away, would she?” Adora shakes her head and he carries on, “And…she has made it clear, on no uncertain terms, that she would come for my kneecaps if I told you this but…from what I heard on Beast Island and everything since then, hurting you has always been her biggest regret. I doubt she would do it again, not unless there was some much larger reason.”

 _She talked about me on Beast Island?_ is the question Adora wants to ask, but she has some self-restraint. She knows that isn’t important, not right now.

And Adora does believe in Catra. But that doesn’t mean what Catra did doesn’t hurt. And that doesn’t erase the fear or anxiety of what Catra could be doing right now.

“But…then what’s the reason? Shadow Weaver thinks she’s selling us out to the Horde, but if that isn’t true—if she goes to the Fright Zone and doesn’t give Hordak what he wants or tries to trick him then…” Adora trails off, turning her gaze downwards.

It’s like they’re back in the war room table—less crowded, not as many princesses, and certainly no King Micah. It’s all of them, casting unsure glances at each other as Scorpia relays the information she knows about Catra, about how she’s been banished. And Mermista scoffs and questions what the point is in trying to rescue someone who may already be dead.

The difference now is that Adora has Catra back— _had_ , even marginally. Catra was an abstract concept before, something so out of touch that whatever Adora pictured wouldn’t chalk up to the real thing. But now…she’s spent time with her best friend again, knows that she’s _more_ than that and what life could be like for them…and now she might lose all of that, too.

It all hangs in the balance.

Micah squeezes her shoulder, “We won’t let Hordak hurt her. We _can’t._ I promised myself I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. We just need to figure out what she’s doing.”

And that might _sound_ like a daunting task but it’s made infinitely easier by the arrival of three unexpected guests.

The doors to the war room swing open and _seriously_ what do the guards even do here if not prevent people from entering and exiting?

“Lonnie?” comes Scorpia’s elated ask, “Rogelio? Aw you _guys_ -“

But the elation, the happiness-doesn’t last long at all. They’re members of the Horde, and suddenly everyone else in the room is poised to attack.

However, the three of them have their hands raised—a sign of peace and, even with the Alliance ready to strike, Lonnie fearlessly steps forward.

“Catra sent us here,” Her first words are carefully selected. And selected well, if the way everyone in the room drops their stance in surprise is any indication, “Said if we helped you, we wouldn't be prisoners. Now, if she _lied_ to us we’ll walk out of here without an issue.”

“You…spoke to Catra? Where is she? What is she doing?” Adora asks, tone urgent as she steps closer to Lonnie.

But her face is guarded and she shakes her head, “Nuh-uh. I’m not telling you _anything_ until I know we’re in the clear.”

Adora looks back to Micah and Angella, “This is Lonnie. She’s the one who let Catra go yesterday. If Catra sent her, we should trust her.”

“Aren’t we still not sure if we can trust Catra?” Mermista sighs.

Angella ignores her, “So, you’re the one who sent her crashing through the window?” She crosses her arms, eyelids squinted and unimpressed.

Lonnie doesn’t seem remorseful, “Hasn’t she done worse property damage than that? You know-the whole Battle of Bright Moon?”

“I’m not worried about _property damage_ -“ Angella rebuffs, clearly prepared to rake Lonnie over the coals when Micah steps in.

“Tell us what you know and we can work out a deal,” he says, “Obviously, we don’t know you well enough to trust you. But if the information you give us winds up being correct and we can get Catra back unharmed—I’m sure we’ll work out _something_.”

They’ll have to be confined to the Bright Moon standard of a prison. But Lonnie must’ve already known that, if she sets her jaw and nods slightly at the proposition.

“Hordak is building a portal to bring the rest of the Horde’s army to Etheria,” She reports, the same conciseness and sense of duty Adora recalls from their youth. “Catra broke into the Fright Zone to stop him. I told her yesterday that taking her down is his number one priority. Guess she figures if she can bring the fight to him, no one else can get hurt.”

There is no time to be relieved—affirmed by the fact Catra hasn’t betrayed them. Instead, there is only time to panic, to fear the worst—what Adora already was worried about. Facing off Hordak by herself is such a _stupidly_ bad idea. There’s no way it can end well.

“We have to go to the Fright Zone and find Catra,” Adora announces, “Some of us will have to stay here and protect Bright Moon but we’ll take a team and bring her back.”

She grabs the Sword of Protection from its place on her wrist, determined eyes reflecting back at her in the blade.

“Uh, what’s that?” Lonnie asks, eyebrow’s raised incredulously as she eyes Adora’s sword.

“Um…the Sword of Protection?” Adora answers, but it’s more of a question.

“Oh, that’s how Adora transforms into She-Ra,” Scorpia explains, “You know the big tall warrior princess—”

“I _know_ who She-Ra is Scorpia, we fought her together a bunch of times!” Lonnie reminds her, “But what I don’t know is how _you_ have the sword.”

“It just sort of picked me?” Adora grimaces, not really getting what this has to do with anything:

“No. I mean. We just saw Catra with it in the Fright Zone.”

* * *

_“It seems so obvious,” Catra sighed, head tucked on top of where her hands were resting on bent knees. It was a beautiful night, the air temperate and peaceful in a way the Fright Zone had never been. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”_

_“You’ll have to be more specific,” Micah jested from his place next to her on the roof, “You once ran into an entire pack of Pookas without realizing it.”_

_Catra fixed him her best glare, “That was because of the, oh, I don’t know, what was it again? Oh. Yeah, the_ debilitating _migraine thing.”_

 _Bringing up the pookas as proof of all that Catra was unable is being rather generous, especially given there are many more personal and cutting examples. But those wouldn’t have been funny. And they both know he wouldn’t unearth memories just to hurt her or throw in her face._

_“I just mean…the Horde. I always knew they were bad. But I didn’t know how bad…” She tries to find the right words, “I guess there were some things that I thought were normal.”_

_“Like what?” Micah asked._

_She could easily change the subject, throw up the walls and say that it was stupid-she didn’t want to talk about it. But…part of her does, even if she can’t describe the feeling perfectly._

_“I don’t know. Everything? Like the yelling and the fighting and the constantly tearing each other down. Even if you were on the same squad,” Catra shakes her head, “I…obviously I didn’t like what Hordak did to me but I wasn’t, like, surprised or anything. If you fuck up you get punished. That's how you learn. Or so I thought.”_

_She mumbles the last part. It’s still hard for her to wrap her mind around._

_But like always, Micah picks up on it. Or maybe he’s been wanting to ask this, but was waiting for a sign that she was ready to talk about it._

_“Catra…when you came back from the Runes and you were worried that Angie and I were mad at you—did you think we were going to hurt you?”_

_She curls in on herself a little bit tighter at that. When he says it like that, she can’t help but feel embarrassed. She had been so clearly off the mark about that._

_“…I mean, yeah,” Catra confesses and he tenses at the admission. “I mean. It’s what Shadow Weaver did or would’ve done. And I know-I know that’s stupid. I know you guys…you aren’t_ her _, but it’s not…this is new to me, alright? So stop looking at me like a kicked puppy-“_

 _“It’s not stupid,” Micah is quick to assure her, ”But I promised you that you’d be safe here and…you’re allowed to make mistakes and move on from them. I know it’s a lot to believe and I don’t expect you to just trust me on this but I’m expanding on my promise. We will_ never _hurt you, alright? Especially not for a misunderstanding. We just wanted to make sure you were okay.”_

_The conversation is too sincere, too genuine and Catra doesn’t know what to do with all of the emotion in her chest. So she does her best to deflect and hope that there aren’t tears shining in her eyes when she rolls them, “Yeah, I know. We went over that like fifty times.”_

_But if he’s being sincere, she figures she might as well be too. “And I guess…that’s what I don’t get. How I stayed in the Horde so long without realizing how…wrong it all was. That isn’t how you treat people. It seems so obvious now.”_

_“Let me ask you something—and don’t look at me like, you don’t even know what it is! If you plant a seed in the soil and it doesn’t grow, what do you do?”_

_“What kind of question is that?” Catra scoffs, “I don’t know—you ask Perfuma to work her weird plant magic on it?”_

_It’s not the answer he’s looking for. “Do you blame the seed or the soil if the seed doesn’t grow?”_

_“Maybe you blame whoever the hell planted it for not knowing what they’re doing.”_

_“Humor me. Seed or soil?”_

_“I don’t know-I don’t know about plants!” She says, growing frustrated. Like this is some sort of test that she’s failing._

_“What if I told you that the soil was really dry? That some plants thrived in that kind of environment, but others didn’t? And if we took that seed and, say, planted it somewhere else, it’d grow without a problem?”_

_“Ugh,” those details would’ve been helpful to know at the upfront, but she bites her tongue. “Then I guess we blame the stupid soil.”_

_“Right. And if we kept the seed in that soil, we’d never know how or_ if _it could grow.”_

 _The meaning dawns on her then. It makes sense in the stupidly impactful way that most of Micah’s lectures do. It’s hard to believe the man who couldn’t catch a fish to quite literally save his life was capable of…actually knowing things._

_“Am I the seed?” She groans, she really wasn’t looking to be trapped into another cheap metaphor. Even if it did make…some sense._

_“What else would you be?” He shoots back, before adding, “It’s very difficult—near impossible, to heal in the same environment where you got sick. And you could yell at that seed all day long, you could drown it with water but if it’s not mean to grow there, it isn’t meant to grow there.”_

The memory flits through her mind as she approaches Hordak’s sanctum. She hangs on to it, lets it linger because she’d much rather focus on _that_ memory than any of the ones that are resurfacing from her time in the Horde.

Micah was right. It comes as no surprise that Catra didn’t— _couldn’t_ grow here. Couldn’t heal. Couldn’t see anything past rage, grief and pain. So transfixed on hatred that she never realized how much of it she had turned inward.

She debated sneaking in. Weaponizing the element of surprise and seeing if it could get her anywhere. But if she learned anything from the last time she was here, it’s that Hordak _knows_ more than he lets on. He probably knew she was on her way here before she even made up her mind for herself—Shadow Weaver must’ve sent one of her shadows to relay Catra’s disappearance this morning.

Her usual tricks won’t get her anywhere, not this time.

So with a firm hand and a fire burning in her chest, mind set and determined to _save and protect_ the people she cares about, she pushes through the door leading to the sanctum.

And she isn’t sure why her breath catches in her throat at the sight of Hordak, sitting on his throne and staring down at her unflinchingly, like he had just been waiting for her. But there’s that tightness, lingering, growing except now…now it’s different. It’s accompanied by a trill sound. Far off and too dull to induce a headache, but she registers it regardless.

“Force Captain Catra,” Hordak greets and it makes her want to grit her teeth. She wants to snap at him—tell him not to call her that, but she has to keep her composure for now.

The door slams shut behind her, ringing with finality.

“Lord Hordak,” she’s incapable of making it sound like anything other than a sneer, “Take it you’re not surprised to see me?”

“Only surprised it’s taken you this long to return to the Horde,” He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Something about being banished got me held up,” Catra returns and he growls at that. He’s quick to anger, always has been, but somehow he’s extra irritable today. She figured he’d at the very least be smug—glad he’s finally getting what he wants, “But enough pleasantries-“

“Enough?” He asks, voice swarming with amusement. “You’ve only just returned. Aren’t you curious about what I’ve been up to? I’ve managed to equip _Entrapta’s_ bots with an incapacitating venom, would you like to see?”

It’s more of a threat than an actual question. And Catra feels her pulse quicken when she sees a bot roll out of the shadows, toward her like it’s on command.

“I’m not interested in catching up,” Catra’s face darkens. “Shadow Weaver told me about the portal.”

“You aren't?” He asks, face surprised, “But isn’t _this_ what you wanted? To stand side by side as we finally bring the Rebellion down under our heel?”

Maybe it was what she wanted at some point. But that point feels long gone—a _once upon a time_ that took place very long ago.

“Do you want the sword, or not?” Catra sighs, impatient. She’s anxious—caught in the balance of not knowing whether or not this will work and _needing_ to know. She can’t take anymore prelude.

“What’s all the rush for?” He questions, “Don’t you want to wait it out? See if any of them care enough to follow you here?”

Her eyes snap to his, enraged and certain, “I came alone. No one is following me here. Now, if I give you the sword, am I free to go?”

Hordak stares at her for a moment, a long moment that makes her nerves spike. Appraising her new appearance, the hilt of the sword strapped to her back, before breaking out into laughter.

“Oh my,” He laughs humorlessly, before reaching for and adjusting a button on a nearby remote, “You didn’t _really_ believe that did you?”

And then that noise—that white static that’s been plaguing her, haunting her ever since she set foot on that damn island, increases in its intensity—bringing her to her knees again.

The _signal._

She clutches her ears, while he continues to laugh, mercilessly and rises from his throne.

“You didn’t _really_ think you could just come back here with a petty olive branch and expect all to be forgiven? Not after you took _everything_ from me?”

Everything has to mean Entrapta, of course. But Catra didn’t _take_ her. Didn’t do anything. Hordak lost her all on his own.

She doesn’t have the willpower or time to debate that, instead mustering all of the strength she has to grit out—“H-how?”

“Oh this?” He dangles the remote in front of her. For some reason, maybe it’s because he wants her to _really_ hear him as he boasts, he turns the dial and the sound becomes more muted, “Really, you should’ve let me explain some of my latest findings to you before just diving head first into this so foolishly.”

She clenches her jaw as he gestures over to a glass dome, barely alit by a faint green glow. With her heart swooping low into her chest, she realizes what it’s incasing—a swarming, pulsing tangle of vine and wire. The heart of the signal. Hadn’t Micah and Adora destroyed it?

Before memories of _too much unforgivable failure no one cares about you drift into the island you’ve gone too far done too much damage you belong on the island give in become part of the island worthless_ , high pitched frequencies, inescapable vines and unending darkness can re-enter her mind, she asks,

“The migraines. This whole time. It’s been _you_?”

He smiles evilly, “See, once we heard King Micah had returned to Bright Moon we combed through the island-searching for any trace of you. We never thought we could find _something_ with such power. From such a long distance, too. It’s been almost too easy to reach Bright Moon.”

The anger within her flares at that, and with a frustrated grunt she pushes herself up off the floor. Of course—that's why they hadn’t heard from the Horde. They weren’t hiding out in the Fright Zone, intimidated by the return of the King. They were recovering whatever tech they could from Beast Island for the portal and taking whatever scraps of the signal they could find.This whole time, it was just him fucking with her. He couldn’t leave her alone. Punishing her once wasn’t enough. Exiling her wasn’t enough.

“If you want a fair fight, you should turn that off,” She spits out at him, not letting the waver in her voice or the shake in her arms stop her from standing.

“Hmmm,” he considers it, diplomatically, “I suppose that’s true. I don’t have a use for it right now, anyway.”

And with that, the noise disappears. So effortlessly-here one second and then gone the next. All of these weeks, that’s all it would’ve taken to get the pain to stop—and it was totally out of her control. She knows the signal can do more than just spark a headache. It can—and has messed with her mind before. Micah had grown somewhat immune to it, but with her heightened hearing…she was particularly vulnerable. Especially after she ran into the center of the island.

And maybe that's what Lonnie was referring to. It’d be a special kind of torture, tailored just for her.

“But, tell me Catra—how _did_ you survive Beast Island?” His tilts his head, arms crossed behind his back—where he is undoubtedly clutching the remote. “How did you convince the fallen King _not_ to kill you?”

 _Micah_. Catra’s eyes narrow, fists clenching ruthlessly at her sides – of course. Whether it was Shadow Weaver’s decision or not, Hordak certainly must’ve known Micah was sent to Beast Island. Was that part of his plan? Did he just assume Micah would kill her on sight?

The thought is almost laughable – not almost, actually. It _is_. “Clearly you don’t know ‘the King’ that well at all.” She taunts.

“I assumed he’d have a bit of mercy and put you out of your misery like the worthless, wretched failure you are!”

Catra snaps at that, grabbing the sword and lunging forward. He evades her, easily—but she’d been anticipating that and extends her claws, slashing into his arm as he tries to pull away. It’s not enough to really get through his exoskeleton, but it’s enough to grab him into a hold.

“I’m _not_ the failure here, you’re just mad you’ve tried to kill me how many times now? And you still _can’t,_ ” She accuses, tone indisputable. And really, she isn’t sure where this confidence has come from after mentally putting herself through the ringer for the last twenty-four hours. But she can think clearer now—now with the evidence of what she used to be right in front of her, she can appreciate the difference between past and present.

“I’ve _always_ been stronger than you,” Catra emphasizes by shoving him to the ground, “Smarter than you. Braver than you. You’d have _nothing_ without me!”

He scowls at her, drawing back his fist as he stands but when the blow comes, she can easily block it. It’s like he’s not even trying.

“But all you and Shadow Weaver ever did was hurt me! I was your punching bag whether or not shit went wrong,” She cries, voice furious, “It was wrong and I didn’t deserve it!”

The conviction in her words is surprising, even to her own ears. It almost doesn’t sound like her own voice. If she didn’t say it with a rush of adrenaline pulsing through her—if she even had just a moment to think about it, she’d talk herself out of it.

But it’s _true_. Isn’t that why Micah wanted to help her in the first place?

Isn’t that why he continued to help her, even when she failed, even when she was a brat and pushed him away? Even if he had some obligation to help her, Angella certainly didn’t. If Angella didn’t think she was worth…something, why would she have ever spent so much time comforting her? Looking after her, getting to know her—joking around with her?

Catra cared about them—cared enough about herself to at least _try_ to change. To make something better of herself, to let people in. Maybe she’d always care more, always _love_ people more than they loved her, but she had people who at the very least _liked_ her now. Enough to teach her magic, show her the night lights—protect her. Or try to at least.

And she wasn’t going to let Hordak or _anyone_ hurt them now.

He laughs at that, “And what _do_ you deserve Force Captain? To live happily ever after with the very people you sought to destroy?”

He swings for her again, pushing her back a few feet. But he’s holding back—like he’s waiting for something. He could be doing a lot more damage now, but that doesn’t matter. There’s nothing he can do to stop what she’s got planned now.

His words don’t hurt. It’s nothing she hasn’t thought for herself. Frustration pinches his face when she cackles bitterly at him.

“You don’t think I know that?” Catching him off guard, she advances toward him again—but she doesn’t aim for his head or his chest like he anticipates. She grabs his arm and twists it backwards, “Like I said. _Smarter than you_. Maybe I won’t get what I want. But neither will you.”

She can’t delude herself into thinking she’ll actually be making it out of here. Can’t give herself this hope. She knows what she wants and has accepted it’s unattainable. But she will do what she came here to do, regardless.

Pressing her elbow into the back of his armor—the center of its weakest point, he crumbles to his knees and the remote falls from his grasp.

Without a moments hesitation, she drives her foot forward and crushes it.

“I’m not letting you win,” She promises, “And I’m not letting you hurt them.”

Catra releases his arm, scanning the room and looking for it – this ‘portal’. Hordak won’t be down, not for long. But all she needs is just enough time to destroy it. Her eyes land on what must be it—a large but thin metal contraption, hooked up to some monitors. She almost wants to roll her eyes, clearly Entrapta didn’t work too much on it. It looks shoddy enough, pieced together with vaguely familiar scraps from the First One’s tech at Beast Island.

This will be easy enough. Putting the sword back into the sheath, she concentrates, taking a deep breath like Micah trained her to do and bringing forth a large, glowing ember.

She almost wants to brag. To turn to Hordak and say, ‘Bet you didn’t know I could do that, did you?’. But it isn’t not worth her energy.

Suddenly, however, a rush of wispy, thin darkness falls over the flame. Smothering it, extinguishing it with ease.

“What?” She whispers in disbelief, mainly to herself. She tries to summon the fire again, but her hand feels constricted, void of magic. Confused, she looks around—trying to find the source of _whatever_ is with holding her power right now, but the source of the problem makes herself evident rather quickly.

A shadow overtakes her, binding her arms and legs together and rendering her immobile. Black and red magic crackle around the points of constriction, and a familiar type of pain zaps through Catra.

“Can’t make anything easy, can you?” Shadow Weaver tsks, stepping forward from the darkness, just beyond where the portal sits. Despite the pain, Catra keeps her face neutral. “What, you’re not surprised to see me?”

“I told you,” Catra spits out, “You can’t manipulate me. Not again.”

Truthfully he hadn’t expected Shadow Weaver to show up _now_. But it doesn’t matter.

Her words infuriate the sorceress, sending more shocks through her, “Such insolence. I knew I should’ve just done this myself.”

She walks towards Catra and she can vaguely hear noise – Hordak undoubtedly scrapping himself off the floor.

“You never needed me, did you?” Catra asks, voice ragged. She’s determined not to show the pain that’s biting at her skin. “I mean, this was your plan the whole time, wasn’t it? Spend enough time in Bright Moon until you can figure out how to outsmart the guards? Steal the sword just to prove yourself back to the Horde? Convincing me to leave Bright Moon and betray everyone was just a bonus for you, wasn’t it?”

 _Betray_ is a bit of a strong word. Seeing as Catra knows well and sure she didn’t do anything against them. But she knows that's not what it’ll look like to them. It will look like Catra just ran out in the night and abandoned them when they needed her. They’ll never find out where she went or what she did—and her legacy will just be that of a traitor. The villain who never could redeem herself.

This is how she knows no one will have followed after her.

“Of course I never needed you,” Shadow Weaver confirms her suspicions, shoving her to the ground but not loosening the grip on the binds. “I didn’t _make_ you betray them, dear. And of course I could’ve done this myself, but it’s always been so much better to watch you suffer.”

Helplessly, she squirms, trying to move away when Shadow Weaver approaches—reaching behind her for the sword. In a final act of defiance, Catra does what she has _always_ wanted to do to Shadow Weaver ever since she was a child: bite her.

It won’t do much to stop the witch in the long run, it’s a minor inconvenience at best—but it’s worth the hiss of pain she gets when she rips her hand away from Catra. “You insufferable _mistake_. You’ll pay for that.”

Catra doesn’t doubt that. This may be her fate, but that doesn’t mean she has to make it easy for _anyone_. If they want to keep her here, torture her-do whatever they want, she’ll make it as least enjoyable for them as possible.

But she can’t stop the cry of anguish when the shadows surrounding her tighten their hold painfully—accompanied with yet more shocks that leave burn marks against her.

Undeterred by her agony, Shadow Weaver grabs the sword and pulls it towards her.

“Really, Catra, I’ve always known you to be a disappointment,” Shadow Weaver sighs as she approaches the portal, Hordak tinkering with it somehow to turn it on. A blinding, blue light fills the center of the ring as the machine powers up. “But I really didn’t think you’d make this so _easy_.”

And with that, Catra watches wordlessly as Shadow Weaver puts the sword in the center of the ring, where it stays suspended. The blue light of the portal grows in intensity—machinery whirring furiously beside it. It’s working, and Catra’s heart hammers in her chest.

Until the sword itself crackles – an orange spark flowing through it once. Then twice. Then _three times_ before the tinier sparks yield a much larger one—turning the sword into a flame, brilliantly burning and causing the machine to malfunction. It’s discharged from the center of the ring as if the tech has recognized it as a fraud and rejects the weapon.

As the light from the portal dies out—quicker than it appeared—the sword lands on the ground, a few feet away from where Catra lies.

“ ** _What did you do?”_** Hordak snaps, turning towards her with outrage clearly written over his face.

The sword continues to spark and crackle—until it dies out and the spell, the carefully crafted _illusion_ fades and the shape of the sword returns to it’s original—a common Bright Moon sword, found on any guard and available in the armory.

“What’s the matter Shadow Weaver?” Catra snarks from her position on the ground. It’s becoming more difficult to talk, harder to ignore the pain that surrounds her, but there is a certain sense of peace she feels now. Her plan worked, and if the now burnt and pathetic state of the portal frame is any indication, Horde Prime’s army won’t be coming to hurt anybody. “Fell for a simple illusion spell? God, it was almost _too_ easy.”

The fury Catra feels emanating from Shadow Weaver is palpable, “You _idiot-”_

“You really thought I believed you?” Catra uses what’s left of her strength to laugh, “Really thought I was going to fall for your crap again? Betray the only people who ever gave a shit about me? I told you—you’re not getting Adora. And that includes She-Ra.”

Taking the real sword would’ve raised a thousand red flags. Obviously Adora would’ve followed her here. Adora can’t lead the Rebellion, can’t be She-Ra without her sword. Catra meant it when she swore she wouldn’t hurt Adora again.

The portal is damaged. Hordak’s plans are ruined. Everyone is safe and happy on Bright Moon.

Catra is different now. Changed – even if it’s taken her a while to see that. The cycle of being used as a weapon to hurt others, to destroy and to hate ends here.

She can hear Shadow Weaver cursing her out, promising an even more painful revenge. But the feeling of constriction overtakes her, stealing her breath and causing her vision fade to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and now to lighten the mood here is what i would imagine a conversation would look like if catra tried to bring melog to bright moon:
> 
> catra: hey I found this cat abandoned by itself on a forgotten planet with no family can we keep it  
> micah & angella: absolutely not  
> catra, holding up the adoption papers they gave her: kinda hypocritical don't you think?  
> micah & angella: 👁👄👁


	9. insult to injury

Determining who goes on the mission to find Catra and who has to stay behind to guard Bright Moon isn’t as easy as it was the first time around.

When it came to Beast Island, everyone was rightfully wary. Scorpia and Entrapta were, of course, eager to go. Adora’s resolve was indisputable and if she was going, Glimmer and Bow were going too. It left enough people to stay behind at Bright Moon.

But _now_? Now it’s hard to find people to stay behind.

“I can’t stay behind!” Scorpia argues, “Catra is my best friend and she needs me! Plus I know the Fright Zone better than anyone else here. Uh—except for Adora. And Lonnie. And Rogelio. But definitely better than Kyle.”

Lonnie, Rogelio and Kyle aren’t even a question—they’re staying behind.

“But you defected too, Scorpia,” Perfuma reminds her, eyes pleading as she makes her case for both her and Entrapta to hang behind, “If they find you back there…I don’t think they’ll be very kind.”

Scorpia’s face falls at that, especially when Lonnie nods in affirmation.

“Well I’m going, obviously,” Mermista asserts, in spite of the fact she’d been doubtful of Catra a few moments prior, “You guys didn’t make me memorize the stupid layout of the sewers for _nothing._ ”

“We don’t need the sewers now,” Adora points out, “Glimmer can teleport us in!”

“Glimmer can?” Angella asks, eyebrows raised, “I’d imagine that’d be quite difficult to do from _Bright Moon._ ”

“Mom, I have to go!” Glimmer argues, rising from her chair immediately, “Adora’s right! They need me.”

“Absolutely not,” Angella shakes her head, arms folded across her chest, “This is _wildly_ too dangerous. We already—they…they already have Catra. We aren’t risking you too. And that’s final.”

“Ugh,” Glimmer groans. The conversation carries on around them, discourse carrying on who to divide and where, but she’s unrelenting. “ _Dad_ , come on, tell her I have to go!”

Micah, to his credit, has never been in this position before. Missing out on so much of the growing pains of raising a child, he has yet to be forced to choose a side.

“Guys, we don’t have a lot of time,” Adora announces, voice tight. “We need to decide, _now_.”

She’s right. Every second spent trying to determine who should go where is a second wasted. Especially when they don’t know what they’re up against, or rather what _Catra_ is up against.

There’s only one way to settle this, Micah figures.

“Angie,” Gently, he pulls her to the side. This is hard, but they both know what has to be done. They know Angella couldn’t leave Bright Moon, even if Glimmer stayed behind in her place. It would be far too risky. And they both know that there’s no way that Micah can just stay here, not when Catra is in danger. But that doesn’t make it easy, and he remembers all too well what happened the last time they were in a similar plight, “You know she’ll fight you tooth and nail until you let her go. I promise you, I’ll keep her safe.”

Angella’s eyes are swimming with tears that threaten to spill over. She knows it’s futile. She can’t hold Glimmer back any more than she can convince Micah to stay now. Convincing Micah to do so would be selfish—a greedy need to ease her own anxieties about him disappearing again. Losing him again. And she knows how powerful her husband is, they’ll need him to get Catra back. And more than anything, what Angella wants- _needs_ is for her family to all be back at Bright Moon. Safe and sound.

If something happened to Catra because she was unable to let go of her own fears, she would never forgive herself.

“Promise me you’ll come back. Promise me you’ll bring them all home,” Angella whispers, voice caught with emotion. She frames his face with her hands, studying him carefully—like she’s trying to sketch the image of him into her memory.

“I promise. I’m never leaving you again,” with a soft touch, he places his hand on the side of her wrist. “I love you.”

“I love you too, dear,” Her response is immediate, pained but sincere.

Adora’s face flushes and she turns her head away, fearing that she’s accidentally intruded upon a private moment. Something in her heart pangs at the intimacy of their exchange, a new wave of urgency sweeping through her.

“Okay,” she breathes after a moment—inklings of a plan, of a team starting to form. “Queen Angella, Perfuma, Scorpia, Frosta, Entrapta, Spinnerella and Seahawk will stay here and guard Bright Moon and watch out for any signs of another Horde attack. While King Micah, Glimmer, Bow, Mermista, Netossa and Swift Wind and I will go to the Fright Zone and find Catra.”

They’ll work on the finer details as they gear up and make their way out of the castle, determine which among them will keep watch outside, distract the soldiers, keep Hordak occupied and who will find Catra.

Adora knows that last piece, at least. She knows it will have to be someone else who finds her, who helps her, who saves her. Adora herself has never been able to. If anything, her interference seems to make things _worse_ but that doesn’t matter now. She’s happy to do any job and whatever it takes so long as it means they bring Catra home.

* * *

It’s the same story, all over again.

Reawakening with a groan, Catra finds herself in an all too familiar cell. Hands shackled and body aching from the effects of Shadow Weaver’s magic, she tries to at least shift her body so she can lean up against the wall of the cell. Gritting her teeth, she hisses through the pain and just tries to focus on the fact that she _did_ it. She stopped Hordak and Shadow Weaver and now everyone is safe.

She couldn’t undo all of the damage she’s caused, but at the very least she prevented more from occurring.

Somehow, though, she feels even worse now than she did the first time she awoke in Shadow Weaver’s cell. The first time, she had a pretty good idea of what was coming to her. She fucked up, Hordak was never going to forgive her, all of her hard work had been thrown away because she was an idiot and her life was, more or less, over.

Catra, of course, had been vastly mistaken. Completely clueless to how in her worst hour, she’d gain far more than she ever lost. She met Micah, got another shot at fixing things with Adora, found that the Queen of Bright Moon really wasn’t the monster she’d been raised to hate. She’d been pretty spot on about Glimmer being insufferable _but_ …she was more fun to have around than Catra originally thought.

She even got the chance to be less of a shitty friend to Scorpia. Catra winces at the memory of Scorpia coming to her cell, trying to help her out of this last time, only for Catra to laugh in her face. She knows she’s apologized and Scorpia had forgiven her long ago, but it’s another thing to confront the memory when she sits in the place where it all went awry the first time.

Catra didn’t leave a stone unturned. Not really. Left on a good note with pretty much everyone. She got to see Adora one last time, make sure she was alright. And sure, she wished she hadn’t been so…cold to Micah—but it was the only way to get him to understand. And by pushing him away then, she was only saving him pain later down the line. If he got her to stay, she wouldn’t have been able to protect him. Or any of them. 

Still…knowing this, knowing she did the right thing for once doesn’t stop the way it hurts. Sadness blankets over her now that she’s fulfilled her mission and she’s assured everyone will be alright. Her heart pangs, realizing that she misses them already. Everyone. Everything. The life she had-could’ve even kept, maybe, if she hadn’t spent so much time encased in her own anger.

She sort of assumed it wouldn’t hurt at all, because she was doing what needed to be done. The right thing. Taking the path that Adora has always begged her to take—the one Micah always preached about. She doesn’t regret it, not at all, but…

Now she’s sat on the floor, head tipped back to the dark green metal ceiling---wishing it was the Bright Moon sky above her and Micah next to her instead of a rusting bench. Wishing won’t get her anywhere, she’s certain that Hordak has got all soldiers centered on her now and there isn’t a way out.

Catra didn’t return to the Fright Zone with an exit plan in mind. Like on the ship to Beast Island, she knew it was fruitless.

As if on cue, a Horde soldier approaches her cell—helmet covering their face as their heavy footsteps stop right in front of her.

“On your feet,” comes the command, voice muffled and gruff.

With tired eyes, she looks at the guard. Then back to the floor, debating whether or not to comply. She runs the odds. It’s strange that Hordak has only sent _one_ to retrieve her, but perhaps this is part of whatever endgame torture he’s got in mind for her. Still, she figures she’s got enough fight in her to at least over power this guard.

But what good would that do? Even if by some miracle she could run out of the Fright Zone, it’s not like she could go back to Bright Moon. Everyone has to hate her now—they wouldn’t want her there. And even if they _did_ , the target put on her head by the Horde would be worse than ever before.

“Can you walk?” The soldier asks her, stepping into the cell. She wants to huff-roll her eyes at their impatience. She was _getting_ up. What does it matter if she can walk? They’ll drag her out of here anyway.

Wordlessly, she stands up and tries not to let her pain show. They’ve definitely done some damage, but she won’t let them revel in that. They don’t deserve that satisfaction.

Once inside, the guard turns their head and does a quick survey of the hallway. Deeming it clear, they look back at Catra.

Catra, for her part, is staring curiously at them. This must be a recently promoted cadet, evidently they don’t know what they’re doing. The barrier surrounding the entrance to the cell shuts just as Catra raises her cuffed hands and says, “Well, let’s get on with it.”

But they don’t make a move to reopen the door, or grab her wrists and lead her anywhere. Instead, they look around the cell again say, “You know, kid, I gotta say this cell hasn’t changed one bit.”

The voice sounds familiar—but there’s no way. Catra recoils at noise, moving backwards in confusion, as if it’ll do her any good. The guard pulls at the helmet and lifts it off of his head:

“Micah?” Her eyes widen as she processes the sight before her. Unmistakably it’s him—jarringly dressed in a Horde uniform. It’s so wrong, so mismatched, she might laugh if she isn’t so certain she has to be _dreaming_.

How the hell sending up some mirage of Micah just to taunt her fits into Hordak’s grand plan, Catra won’t begin to try to understand.

“I—what?” She questions, uselessly, and he’ll probably laugh at her because this is what Hordak wants. To torture her.

“What?” He echoes back, but his voice is nothing if not relieved. It looks like him, of course, sounds like him but…maybe this is Shadow Weaver’s doing, somehow. Maybe she used more of her magic on Catra while she was knocked out. There’s no way anyone would come for her—least of all _him_. “You think you’re the only one who’s been in this cell before?”

It’s the type of thing Micah would say, a joke to lighten the tension-

“You-you’re not-this isn’t real,” She shifts backwards again, heart hammering with disorientation.

“You didn’t really think we’d just let you leave without saying goodbye, did you?” He asks, stepping forward hesitantly. If it weren’t really Micah, he wouldn’t hesitate. He wouldn’t be watching, carefully, to make sure he wasn’t crossing a line.

Catra just blinks at him in confusion, trying to keep her face masked, still unsure if she fully believes what she’s seeing, “I don’t…what are you doing here? You can’t be here-you have to go!”

Micah ignores her protests for the most part, shifting through his pockets to find a key. Gently, he takes the binds on her wrists and uncuffs them.

“I’m serious-you have to go! Hordak is…he’s pissed,” She tries to relay, voice frantic, “I just-I was able to stop him, and the Alliance should be able to take care of him, but he-and Shadow Weaver—”

“Shadow Weaver did this to you?” He asks , nodding at the bruises and burns that cover her skin. There’s something on his face that she can’t decipher.

“Yes, but that doesn’t matter—”

“Of course it matters,” He interrupts, voice firm, removing the chains that were bound to her ankles. And of course he’s _not listening_ -

“Micah, you have to listen,” Catra pleads—and she’s not sure why she feels so close to _crying_ right now. Partially due to overwhelming confusion but mainly it’s out of desperation. She didn’t come so far and lose so much to protect him, just for him to show up and put himself in danger anyway, “He’s got all of this tech now. He went to Beast Island after we escaped—he has the heart of the signal, he’s got all these new bots that have poison or whatever, I destroyed the _portal_ but-“

“Destroyed the portal?” He repeats, face looking way too close to proud, “Used an illusion spell to clone the Sword of Protection, and had them fooled didn’t you?”

“I—uh, well, yeah,” She says before adding without really thinking about it, “Set it on fire, too.”

Micah laughs at that, whole-hearted and genuine. She can’t help but smile in return and for a second it feels almost normal. Like things were before the celebration. Before she ruined whatever bond they might’ve had. “Gotta keep you away from Seahawk.”

Catra almost rolls her eyes and says _yeah, please_ , but she’s too aware of what she’s done—what she tore apart and where they currently are. “You have to go. You need to get out of here. You don’t have a lot of time before Hordak realizes you’re here-I don’t know what he’s got planned but-“

“Hordak is otherwise occupied,” Micah cuts in, “And we’re not leaving without you.”

 _We_. Who the hell else is on this death march of a mission? And _why_?

“Stop-don’t. Okay, just-don’t,” Catra refutes, because she can’t hear this. She’s already struggling to come to terms with the fact that she’s not getting out of this, she can’t bear to hear any false promises. She did this to herself, and he shouldn’t even be here. It doesn’t make sense, “Don’t be stupid. I can’t go-they’re never going to let me go.”

“Catra, I’ll make this real simple. What do you want? Do you want to stay here?”

“No. But-“

“No ‘but’s’. You want to leave? Then we’re getting you out of here,” Micah argues even though Catra suspects that they’d be taking her out whether or not she wants it.

But it can’t be that easy.

Micah always made things seem so simple. Like the only thing that was in her way was herself—that she was both the problem and the solution. He believed in her, no matter what.

“I-why, I don’t understand,” She frowns, feeling tears of frustration prick at her eyes. She know she won’t get anywhere if she tries to fight him on this. He’s so stubborn, he’ll only dig his heels in further. “People will keep getting hurt if I’m around. That's why I left!”

“And you don’t think that hurt us?” Micah questions—voice clear and cutting. Her eyes widen, because she thought it _might_ sting them a little, but even that made her fear she was overestimating her place in their life. She didn’t think leaving would be of any permanent consequence to them, “Do you think any of us would be okay if anything happened to you? That we’d just what, get over it? We care about _you_. We want to protect you and make sure you’re safe just as much as you want the same for us!”

 _Just as much_ —she has to laugh at that. That’s just the way it works, not for her. She’s the one who cares more, she’s the one who gets hurt. She’s the one who gets left behind…

But. Micah didn’t leave her behind. Not even on Beast Island. Or when Glimmer tried to make him choose between the two of them. Not even now, after denying his offer, pushing him away and _running_. He’s still here. 

How? How is he—and presumably Angella or whoever else he’s roped into this, still around? That’s what she never understood. She never got it. Why they cared so much about her safety and her migraines, why they still supported her even if she failed, why Micah dragged her off of Beast Island and especially _why_ Angella almost got herself killed—

 _“You still don’t get it, do you dear?”_ Angella had asked. And no, Catra didn’t then. And she still doesn’t now.

Crying isn’t something they have time for, Catra doesn’t need to know their escape plan to know that much. But she’s so confused and overwhelmed and this is not at all what she expected to happen. “But _why_? I don’t get it! Why do you-all of you still care? Why are you still trying to help me, after everything?”

Micah stills at the question, looking a bit bewildered at the question. He just stares at her for a second, like he’s surprised by something she’s said. Then, a realization kicks in and the confusion fades from his face.

He squares Catra’s shoulders with his hands, his face is grave, like it’s very important she understands what he’s about to say. She braces herself for what she assumes will be something overly complicated.

“Because you’re family,” Micah explains, simply. His only mistake was not making it more clear, sooner. “And we love you, kid.”

_We love you._

She can tell he’s being genuine. He’s serious. But the words are hard to fathom-her knee-jerk reaction is to accuse him of lying to her. She barely manages to suppress the urge-unsure of what good lying to her about this would even do for him. 

“I…what?” She isn’t sure if anyone has ever said that to her. In all fairness, she isn’t sure she’s ever said that to anyone else either. He sees the disbelief in her eyes, watches held back tears finally fall, and assures her it’s okay.

But they simply don’t have time to break it down any further—red lights flash and alarms start blaring. Distantly, Catra can hear the sound of _some_ explosion going on.

“Um, hate to ruin the moment,” Bow comes running past the cell, alarm evident in his voice. “But we need to go! Like _now!_ ”

“Let’s go,” Micah grabs Catra’s hands and pulls her out of the cell.

Running, for all it’s worth—hurts right now. She feels like she’s lost her speed a bit, but she can navigate these halls way better than they can.

“Okay, what’s the plan?” She asks. They can both still at the very least pass for Horde officers, but Catra herself? Not so much. And she’s not really interested in putting on that uniform again.

They come to a halt near a corner and both Micah and Bow look at her, eyes widening in _guilt_ for some reason.

“Uh…” Bow coughs—and then it clicks.

“I know you two didn’t just come in here without a plan!” She whisper-yells knowing damn well that's exactly what they did. Then she rounds her attention on Micah, “Especially you! Especially after what happened _last_ time you ran head first into a Horde battle! That's how you got in the cell, remember? Angella is going to kill you-“

Micah’s face reddens at that, “Angie told us to do whatever we needed to do—”

“There you guys are!” Glimmer appears just then-looking joyed to see them. She even looks _happy_ to see Catra—but the smile falls from her face and quickly into a glare. “Oh. _Catra_. Glad to see you’re alive.”

Her tone may be sarcastic but her words are genuine, and Catra realizes that not everyone will be as forgiving as Micah.

“Same to you, Sparkles,” Catra returns, anticipating some incensed comment in response.

But, instead, Glimmer jumps to her—either not seeing or simply not _caring_ about the wounds, and grabs her tightly, “Never. Do. That. Again!” She punctuates each word with a firm squeeze

“Okay, _ow_ -” Catra complains.

“We were worried sick about you!”

“Girls, we don’t have time for this!” Micah reminds them.

“Oh. Right,” Glimmer says, releasing Catra. Like it’s an afterthought—like _oh yeah we’re in mortal peril, forgot about that!_

Catra opens her mouth to respond, but Glimmer grabs hold of all of them and teleports them down to the base floor of the Fright Zone. Catra keels over at that—Micah and Bow barely grabbing hold of her before she hits the ground.

“Holy- _what the fuck_ ,” Catra wheezes, “You can’t just do that! Warn a person next time!”

Glimmer laughs in response, but it doesn’t last long as guards start flanking one of the exits.

“Okay,” Bow says, “Glimmer and I will handle this. Micah, get Catra outside with Swift Wind and Netossa and we’ll find the others and catch up.”

“The others?” Catra spits out, “Tell me you did not bring the entire Alliance here!”

“Not the entire Alliance!” Bow defends, “Just us. And Mermista. And…”

He mutters the last part, undoubtedly with a reason.

“You wanna repeat that?” Catra asks, but it’s more of a demand.

“Adora’s here but it's fine!” Glimmer rips the band aid off—which is certainly _not_ fine.

“Where is she?” Catra demands once more, fearing the answer.

“She…was…um…”

“If the next words out of your mouth have _anything_ to do with Shadow Weaver or Hordak, I’m going to lose it.”

“Someone had to keep them distracted!”

“Yeah! Someone!” Catra retorts, “Maybe not the person who’s weapon they were after in the first place!”

“Adora can handle herself,” Micah reminds her, “She’s with Mermista—Bow and Glimmer will catch up. But we need to get you out of here-“

“No,” Catra shakes her head, “I’m not leaving without Adora.”

“Catra. You said it yourself, they’re after _you_. We need to get you out of here now. This isn’t up for negotiation.” Micah’s voice is stern, unyielding.

There’s a lot to discuss once they return to Bright Moon. But at least they’ll have her back. And they can work through everything together.

Off in the distance, Catra hears something—hears _Adora_ and the Horde soldiers, growing in numbers, surround them.

“Yeah,” She concedes. “It isn’t.”

Before anyone can stop her, she takes off running in the direction of the sanctum-to where Adora awaits.

* * *

If Adora surrenders the sword, Shadow Weaver has promised to release Catra ‘ _unharmed. mostly.’_

Shadow Weaver offers this with a wicked utterance of, “She’s of no use to us now, anyway.”

Like Catra is some disposable thing, just a pawn. And it makes Adora tighten her grip on the sword, muscular form of She-Ra tensing with anger.

Judging by the incinerated, flimsy remains of whatever the portal machine was meant to be, it seems as though Catra had given Hordak and Shadow Weaver a run for their money. Shadow Weaver is likely ashamed at how Catra managed to best her and is attempting to sooth her ego by baiting Adora.

But, apparently, Hordak is optimistic it can be salvaged. He’s so consumed with rebuilding it-so fixated and frantic in his efforts he pays Adora no mind.

This is almost always what it comes down to for Adora: a choice between Catra or She-Ra. But it’s never _just that_. It’s always accompanied with much heavier complications. Because if she gives up She-Ra, she won’t be able to protect anyone, especially Catra. If she surrenders the sword now, it isn’t just a matter of the Horde winning. It’s a matter of the safety of greater Etheria, of Horde Prime bringing his army here.

But Adora knows now the personal pain and consequence that comes with sacrificing what she wants for the greater good. She knows the pain of losing Catra—time and time again. She can’t willingly choose that again.

So she refuses to choose, knowing the choice only feeds whatever Shadow Weaver’s latest mind game is. Plus, Adora trusts that Micah and the others have found Catra or are at least close to doing so.

All Adora needs to do is buy them some more time as she awaits a signal from Mermista to clear out.

“Why should I believe you?” Adora grits, “I don’t even know if she’s okay!”

“Adora?” As if on cue, Catra’s voice calls out, some distance away—but Adora can just make out the sound of her quickened, light footsteps approaching.

Adora turns around so quickly, searching for her—eyes desperately seeking her out, that her guard drops in tandem. She doesn’t notice Shadow Weaver’s face darkening or her accompanying flare of irritation.

“Catra,” She breathes out once Catra finally steps into view. She looks thoroughly put through. Her clothes are torn, there are burns that Adora can easily identify as a work of Shadow Weaver’s magic. Her hair is messy, kept barely in place by that coveted band and she looks exhausted…but she’s _alive_.

Catra even looks a bit relieved, a soft smile falling across her face as she takes in Adora. 

Instantly, Adora feels herself relax. Because Catra is here, in front of her, _with_ her. And she doesn’t have to choose now, she knows she doesn’t have to fight against Catra anymore—Catra fought for them, the Rebellion, _her_. And she’s okay. Adora starts to move toward her, but Shadow Weaver’s magic comes between the two of them, constricting Catra and dragging her to the sorceresses side.

“Don’t make another move,” Shadow Weaver hisses in warning—and Adora freezes reflexively.

At her command, bots roll forward—new ones, ones Adora has never seen before. Catra must recognize them though, if the way she tenses is any indication.

“Here is your proof,” Shadow Weaver sneers, “Catra is just fine. And if you want her to stay that way, give me the sword.”

The impossible choice, the one where Adora loses no matter what. It’s just a matter of picking which poison-

“No!” Catra struggles next to her, eyes desperate and pleading, “Adora-you can’t!”

Her eyes widen at that—it was surprising enough for Catra to admit that she accepted She-Ra back in the ruins. But for Catra to tell Adora to choose the sword, choose _She-Ra_ —that’s something else entirely.

“You can’t! Everyone will die if you do,” Catra continues even has Shadow Weaver tightens the binds. She can sense Adora’s hesitation, the anxiety in her eyes conveying _what about you?_ , “I’m fine-I’ll be okay. _Don’t_ listen to her-“

It’s a lie. They both know it. Shadow Weaver is not one for empty promises, not when it comes to hurting either of them.

“Silence!” Shadow Weaver commands, sending another wave of pain through Catra. Adora’s heart clenches painfully at the sound of agony that she tries to swallow down.

The same question circles back to Adora—what good is the sword, what good is She-Ra if she can’t protect the people she cares about?

She falls back into a fighting stance, “Let her go.”

“You know what you need to do, dear,” Shadow Weaver is unrelenting. That old bubble of frustration rises up within Adora. Shadow Weaver has always done this, always treated Catra like she’s just Adora’s weakness.

They were raised on the belief that caring for others, having friends, trying to protect each other—it’s all _weakness_.

But it isn’t true, it was never true.

Catra is the only reason that Adora has _any_ positive memories from her childhood. Catra made her laugh after the worst days, made her feel valued even when she was convinced she would never be enough for anyone—gave her ambition and hope for the future. Albeit, their plans were based on the false narrative the Horde had constructed for them but _still_. When they had each other, they at least had hope that things would get better. Adora put extra force into her training, studied harder-molded herself into the perfect soldier so they could finally call the shots and create a safer place for themselves amongst the darkness.

And in that way, she realizes starkly, Catra made her stronger.

Adora’s current anger, fueled by the grief over every lost moment of their childhood—into adulthood where they turned the damages from their abusers onto the each other is empowered by the truth that Shadow Weaver has long tried to conceal from her: Catra isn’t a weakness, she’s her strength.

It sends a new, more potent form of power through her veins. She feels it, a rush of energy pulsing through her veins as she finally understands just how wrong Shadow Weaver has been about them.

A golden glow radiates off of her and she snaps-lunging forward with a force of energy she ‘s never been able to tap into before. When she swipes the sword at their abuser, it’s followed by an intense wave of light that pushes Shadow Weaver to the ground and causes her to loosen her grip on Catra.

Having gained marginal movement, Catra looks up at her in awe-whether it’s from the glow or the new found strength, Adora isn’t certain. But it’s enough to even warrant Hordak’s attention, grumbling as he takes in Adora and stepping away from the machine. The intensity continues to flow through her and she’s ready to make another move when she’s snapped out of her focus by other footsteps.

“Catra!” Micah calls, Glimmer and Bow trailing a few feet behind him.

The distraction is enough to cause the newfound power to drain from within her, surging out of her like it does when she normally de-transforms, but it doesn’t take her out of her She-Ra form entirely. Still, it disorients her as she looks over the sword and back to Catra, who remains just as confused.

“Well,” Catra remarks from her place on the ground. Her voice is strained, weakened and raspy, “ _That’s_ new.”

Shadow Weaver reacts in the offbeat but she doesn’t make a move for Adora or Catra—she focuses her efforts on Micah this time. At her command, a bot discharges and hits him squarely in the arm. It’s not a laser that fires though, it’s a darker and purple substance, but the effect is immediate.

Micah stumbles, crumbling like his bones are made of paper, hand gripping where he was hit as he falls forward. Adora’s mouth falls open in shock, watching all of the energy be seemingly drained out of his body. Glimmer cries out and runs to his side, Catra tries to fight against her binds turns desperate, calling out his name in hear-hysterics.

Adora tries to process _what_ just happened, feelings of helplessness rising to her throat..

Using the chaos as a cloak, Hordak moves over to the heart of the signal unnoticed.

Pleased with her work, Shadow Weaver just cackles as he does so, rising again and stepping in front of Catra.

“What did you do?” Adora hisses, voice furious.

“Now, now, Adora,” Shadow Weaver chides, “That bot has enough poison to kill him-“ Catra’s squirming amplifies at that, “What do you think it’d do to _her_? Or your other friends?”

Adora hears Glimmer and Bow speaking to each other in frantic whispers—Glimmers voice strained in a way it only ever is when she’s trying not to sob. And Catra isn’t even looking at Adora now, so intense and focused on getting to Micah, she doesn’t even register the bot that approaches to her side.

She-Ra slips away from her as the defeat slumps her shoulders downwards. There’s no way out of this-if Micah’s pained cries are any indication. They need to get out of here-get him and Catra to a healer _now_ , no matter the cost. They can’t risk it. Even if the sword activates the portal-it doesn’t matter. They’ll just have to think of something else. Come up with an alternate plan later.

She fights back tears, hand extending to give the sword over the Shadow Weaver. It’s useless if holding on to it results in Micah getting killed. Giving up, giving the sword over is the wrong thing to do-Adora recognizes but there’s no way in hell she can just watch Catra _die_ in front of her.

“Adora, no!” Catra’s voice is desperate, pitched thin. She lurches forward again, embers of her orange magic glowing at her side as she _finally_ breaks free of Shadow Weaver’s magic.

She intercepts the hand off, grabbing the Sword and sliding forward on the ground. She scrambles to get on her feet, clutching the sword as Shadow Weaver curses at her.

“You can’t give up now,” Catra demands forcefully, throwing the sword back to Adora before turning to run towards Micah, “I’ll get Micah. Just-just take care of her and get us _out of here._ ”

Catra believes in her. Her stomach flips a bit at that, reminding her of that day back in the Whispering Woods. How Catra’s faith in She-Ra made her feel confident, more sure of herself. It’s enough to get her to shift back into She-Ra without even calling on the honor of Grayskull.

“Not so fast,” Hordak threatens before Catra can even get halfway across the way—white noise filling the room as he unleashes the heart of the signal from its glass containment

Adora’s eyes widen in horror at the immediate impact it has on Glimmer and Bow, hands flying to shield their ears from the pain. But Catra doesn’t- _can’t_ let it stop her now. She grits her teeth, the pain is so familiar to her now, the struggle is second-nature at this point. Orange flames rising aside her, she trudges forward, but she simply isn’t quick enough to beat the signal.

Pulsing with unimpeded intensity, swarming wires wrap themselves around Catra’s foot effortlessly. Before Adora even has the time to react, the heart of the signal pulls Catra in—deep within the darkness and traps her there once more.

* * *

Daylight filters in through the window as Catra stretches languidly. It’s warm and comforting but…something feels ever so slightly off. With a frown, she realizes it must be because the spot next to her is empty and cold.

Begrudgingly, she decides it’s probably best for her to get up anyway. Adora likely was just giving her a few extra minutes to sleep in, but if she doesn’t get up soon she’ll be running late for…something. Whether it’s an Alliance meeting or catching up with Micah, her brain can’t quite put it together. But a soft voice in the back of her mind tells her that there’s somewhere she needs to be.

Pushing the strange feeling of foreboding aside, she pulls herself out of bed and makes her way down the hall.

“Oh Wildcat, there you are!” Scorpia calls out to her from behind her, appearing so suddenly it makes Catra jerk with surprise. She turns around to find Scorpia arm-in-arm with Entrapta. Their smiles are bright, too bright, even for them.

Something tugs in Catra’s heart as she sees the two of them. The air feels off, the way it always had right before she found herself in some sort of trouble-whether it was for running late to drills or directly defying Shadow Weaver’s orders. But she has to remind herself she isn’t in the Fright Zone. She’s in Bright Moon. There is no danger like that, not anymore.

“Yeah, yeah,” She smirks in response, “I know, I’m late—”

“Late?” Entrapta questions when Scorpia links her arm with Catra’s, “You’re just on time!”

“On time for what?” Catra asks as Scorpia leads her down the staircase, her feet dragging, “Where’s Adora?”

Despite how tranquil everything seems with the walls of the palace seeming even brighter today and guards smiling as they pass by, the feeling of wrongness doesn’t abate. The entire world feels off by a degree. Catra just can’t figure out _what_ that degree is.

Glimmer and Bow join them at the bottom of the staircase. Glimmer just rolls her eyes as she tugs Catra along, “ _Adora_ this, _Adora_ that—”

“You’re one to talk!” Catra fires back, elbowing Bow. But her voice doesn’t feel like her own-her thoughts, fears and confusion at their present situation are stifled in the back of her mind. “She never shuts up about you, just so you know.”

Glimmer’s face flushes red at that, even as Bow laughs good naturedly, “ _Catra_ , those were private conversations!”

“Don’t believe me?” Catra carries on, ignoring Glimmers protests, “Just ask Micah and Angella. We can’t get through _one_ meal without her bringing you up. ‘Oh, did you guys hear about what Bow is working on with Entrapta? Did you guys see how his new arrows can make butterflies and glitter rain down from the sky?’”

“Hey!” Bow says in offense, not expecting her to take the opportunity to poke fun at him as well.

“I don’t recall working on that with Bow,” Entrapta says from behind her.

“It was a joke, Entrapta,” Catra comments dryly, but finds no irritation in her tone.

The walk to the war room is shorter than Catra can recall, like within a blink of an eye they’re already at the door. It only magnifies the hazy feeling in her mind.

“About time,” Mermista huffs as they enter.

Catra rolls her eyes, uneasiness only lessening when she figures she’ll at least be next to Adora soon. Once she is, she’ll feel safe and this weird… _whatever_ it is, will subside.

Except, there is no Adora—there are no maps or strategy boards. There’s an assortment of food on the table, streamers and balloons lining the walls. Everyone else in the Alliance is there, Frosta practically bouncing with energy where she stands, Seahawk smiling brightly, Netossa and Spinnerella looking at her with a foreign type of fondness in their eyes. Swift Wind even has his own seat.

Angella and Micah are at the head of the table, faces alit with the warm glow that emanates from the candles on the cake in front of them.

“I…what is this?” Catra asks, Glimmer shoving her along to the end of the table.

 _Where is Adora?_ -she wants to ask, but finds that there is some strange, inner mechanism that prevents her from doing so.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Glimmer chides, “We’re celebrating!”

Catra rolls her eyes, “Uh, yeah. Got that much, but what for?”

“You, duh!” Glimmer answers like it’s obvious, but it only makes the confusion twist in Catra’s stomach.

Celebrate her for what, exactly? _She_ hasn’t done anything.

“We know you wanted something more lowkey,” Bow supplies, “But we had to do _something!_ ”

“We couldn’t stop them, even if we wanted,” Micah says, eyes beaming in pride. Pride that is clearly directed at her—but she can’t discern why.

“And we didn’t particularly want to,” Angella adds, “But can you blame us dear? It’s not every day we get to officially welcome a new member to the royal family.”

“Wh-wait, what?” Catra asks, recoiling slightly before Angella wraps an arm around her shoulder, guiding her to stand between her and Micah.

“Yeah, look who’s a princess now!” Glimmer giggles with mirth from the other side of Angella.

Catra looks down at the cake below her—a _three_ tiered cake with light purple icing. Clearly Glimmer has had no hand in making this as it’s elegantly decorated with fine script in the middle reading, “ _Welcome Home_.”

She feels her face heat as she reads the words, putting the pieces together.

“Paperwork was officially approved last night,” Micah smiles, squeezing her arm gently.

Catra feels happiness rise in her, so much so that she doesn’t really know what to do with it. Not with all of her friends staring at her with shining eyes and genuine smiles.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” she manages to say, voice choked with emotion. Sympathetically, Angella presses a kiss to the side of her forehead.

But something still feels off. Catra realizes that Adora _still_ isn’t here. Everyone is here, except for her. Why isn’t she here-did something happen to her?

Quickly, the feeling of joy slips into something more akin to dread. She scrambles to put together fragmented bits of memory and put together just what exactly is going on. Because this…this is wrong. Adora isn’t here and how could the paperwork be official? Or approved? Because- _because-_

Didn’t she tear it up, crumple it and shove it back at Micah? _No_ -her heart hammers in her chest, this has to be a mistake. A misunderstanding. She left Bright Moon-she _had_ to leave Bright Moon to protect everyone-

The world around her slows down as she finally registers the piercing white noise of the signal ringing off in the distance, somewhere.

_This isn’t real._

“No, this is-this is wrong,” she says, feeling panic rise within her, tearing away from the grip of Angella and Micah.

“Wrong? What’s wrong?” Angella’s voice is masked with an artificial type of contentment, “Everything is perfect.”

“No, this—I left, but you-“ Catra tries to argue and suddenly she sees _it_ : sees herself taking off in the middle of the night, sees Micah finding her in her cell before her vision flashes to the horrible sight of him collapsing him to the ground in Hordak’s sanctum after the bot hit him.

_“That bot has enough poison to kill him.”_

“Catra, it’s okay,” Micah repeats, but his face is stoic and tone robotic.

 _No, it’s not fucking okay_. It can’t be. Frantically, Catra turns around. Fiercely trying to discern fact from fiction.

“No, no, no, this isn’t _right,_ ” She shakes her head-as if she can will the thoughts out of her mind. Everyone around her has gone still, like they’re frozen in place. Stuck staring at her, with sincere warmth and happiness but-it’s not _real_.

And where the hell is Adora?

She reaches out, trying to grab a hold of Micah—snap him out of whatever trance he’s in but the world starts shifting beneath her feet. With great force, she’s pulled away from everyone and he slips just out of her reach.

Violently, she feels herself being thrown into a darkened area, air thick in her throat. White noise aside, the world is a bit quieter now. And it’s just Catra here, by herself.

But it’s not completely dark—there are little flickers of embers that provide a dim illumination across what she can just make out to be a tunnel. Scrambling, she tries to move towards them but finds that her limbs feel far too heavy, keeping her anchored in place.

It’s familiar, though. This place distantly calls a memory to her mind, but it’s too far off to place. Her brain feels too sluggish, too muddled to put together how exactly she can recall this place. Doesn’t really matter now, though, she figures.

Micah is gone. Angella. Glimmer, Bow, too. It was like a tease, reminding her again of all that she could’ve had. Maybe if she stayed in Bright Moon, she wouldn’t be stuck here, alone and left to the darkness.

 _“I’ve always wanted to be a big sister_!”

“ _When it comes to you, there’s nothing to for us to be ashamed of. Quite the opposite, really. We’re very proud of you.”_

She falls to the floor, legs suddenly overcome with a weight too heavy to bear as the words and accompanying memories replay in her mind.

_“You’re family.”_

If Micah meant those words in particular, it’s far too late now. It’s too late for her, too late for him and now they only bring forth more remorse. Catra could’ve had it, could’ve had them- a _family_. It was something she never consciously wanted, a cavity she didn’t know existed in her chest until she almost had it. Only to lose it again.

Closing in on herself, hands gripping her arms tightly, she realizes that maybe the problem isn’t that she left Bright Moon. Rather, it’s that she never should’ve left Beast Island. It just…didn’t make sense-why Adora even bothered to come for her in the first place.

It’s just another line item in a long list of pieces Catra doesn’t understand. Even now, she still doesn’t understand why Adora has always been so hellbent on looking out for her. Why Adora never gave up on her. Or how Micah could so easily look past the hurt and pain she’s caused, instead trying to help her build something better for herself.

Truly, nothing stupefies her more than the way Angella forgave her so quickly—how she so effortlessly channeled negative energy into something so overwhelmingly positive and holistic. Glimmer took a while to come around, but God-when she did, it’s like Catra can’t get rid of her now. Or any of the other members of the Alliance.

In between labored, slowing breaths, the same questions repeat-Why did they come back for her, now? After seeing all the damage she’s caused, and the way trouble will still follow her no matter where she goes, why did they even bother? Why didn’t they leave her to the Fright Zone—or to Beast Island? If she isn’t a chess piece or some sort power play…it just makes no sense, the wires don’t connect.

The lights on the torches feel further away now. And slowly, she releases her grip on her arms, hand falling to find comfort around the shard of her former headpiece.

Catra knows why she did the understandably questionable and overtly risky things that she’s done in the last forty-eight hours. It was to protect them, keep them safe and out of harms reach. But it doesn’t make sense why they did it in return. She left them in the middle of the night, acted recklessly, tricked Hordak and Shadow Weaver, destroyed the portal—but that was just because she cares about them, loves them.

_Love._

The epiphany rises swiftly and bluntly through her—eyes widening as the darkness surrounding her lightens in magnitude.

That’s what it is.

That’s what Micah said— _we love you._

She doesn’t know if she can fully understand it or accept it, but she knows Micah wouldn’t lie to her. She realizes with a sharp intake of air that the love she feels may actually be mutual.

The feeling in her chest she couldn’t quite name during the celebration, the way Angella nearly sacrificed herself to save her—the way they’re all _here_ now, somehow. It was love, it had been this whole time. All-encompassing and everlasting.

They’re still here, everyone is still here, they never left. She just needs to get _up_ and find them. The lights up ahead flicker, like they’re in danger of burning out entirely.

It never felt like it was something that could be reciprocated. It hadn’t been for most of her life. Love wasn’t a prize to be won or earned, it simply wasn’t there. But now it’s here, right before her, and she can’t let it slip away.

Newfound clarity fills her vision as she blinks again, pushing through the way her limbs protest any movement to finally stand again. She knows where she is now, why the tunnel looks so familiar-The Ivy Runes. The familiarity almost brings a smile to her face, remembering the last time she was there. _Who_ she was there with.

She grabs the necklace tighter, taking another step closer—even as she feels the sheer strength of obscurity threatening to pull her backwards.

The kindred lights in the cavern. The necklace itself. The _do you want to go to the celebration with me_? And the _of course I was going to come for you!_ —the way Adora _did_ come to the Island to rescue her, it all finally clicks together.

Maybe it isn’t the same love that Catra feels for her—but it is _love_ nonetheless. And it’s that love that emboldens her to take another step, to accept it and fight back against the darkness that threatens to absorb her entirely.

Her foot escapes the last grasp of wispy darkness—just as she hears a voice, _the_ voice call out, “Catra?”

She tries to call out, to respond with an echoing _Adora_ , but she can’t form the words just yet.

“Catra, come on!” Adora calls again, it’s clear now—where Adora is. She’s at the cavern at the end of the tunnel where they saw the lights together, where the slits in the rocks above them showed just enough of the Bright Moon sky. Where Glimmer was able to teleport them out of there. “Please, I can’t lose you again.”

More clear now, though, is another thought. That maybe, Catra was wrong: she isn’t the embodiment of hatred, some open wound who only is meant to hurt or be hurt. She’s not destined for revenge and destruction.

And Micah was right, there is so much more. More to life, more to her then she was raised to believe.

She steps forward again but the darkness is still there—still lurking behind her. Beating like a heart, she knows she can’t outrun it. She can try, but she isn’t sure if she’ll make it to the surface of the cavern in time. Any step she takes, it’ll follow her and threaten to pull her back.

She never was able to outrun it. The signal followed her off the island, haunted her all the way from Fright Zone. Outrunning it isn’t an option.

But what _can_ she do then? She has to do something-she can’t lose to this. Not now.

“You have to fight it!” She can hear Adora say, her voice pitched with a concern she isn’t sure she’s ever heard before. Desperation and determination ring out, “C’mon, Catra, you need to fight it!”

Luckily for Catra, she’s always been a damn good fighter.

Adora’s voice is even louder, now, calling for her, beckoning her to the cavern. But Catra knows the only way out of this mess is _through_ it-running is only a game of tug of war that she’s destined to exhaust herself from. So rather than run to where the lights of the flames flicker and burn in welcome, she turns around to face the darkness where the heart of the signal awaits. Pulsing threateningly, white noise pitched higher as if it can sense the oncoming attack.

But Catra does not falter this time; doesn’t yield. Micah never allowed her to bring out her claws in their training, instead challenging her to rely heavily on her magic in order to build the skill. But this isn’t a spar in the Bright Moon courtyard, and there are no rules barring her from using both claw and ember to fight her way out.

She raises an arm to swing forward into the entangled mesh of wire at the center of the signal-fire raising behind her. And in moments like these, where she’s poised to strike and initiate a fight, she always does so with a defensive type of anger. A rage within her that stems from feeling dejected, hollow and unworthy.

But that feeling isn’t there, it's a scar smoothed over and replaced by a sense of wholeness. She isn’t fighting to harm or to hurt, she’s fighting for her friends, her family and _herself_.

It’s a brighter kind of motivation, lending strength and newfound energy. It increases her stamina as she pursues onward, unrelenting strike after strike onto the center of wires and white noise. Clawed hands, sharp kicks and incinerating burns don’t wear her energy down now, not when she has something greater to focus on.

“Please _-_ I love you and I can’t- _won’t_ lose you again!”

And there it is, again. _Love_. Catra won’t push that love out again. She won’t let herself be lost.

It’s those final words, declared in earnest promise, that give her the last push of energy she needs. Delivering a final blow with a closed fist encased in orange light, she strikes the heart of the signal with increased ferocity, groaning with exertion as she does so.

She knows she’s succeeded when an amber glow fills the darkened cave with light that grows exponentially brighter. If she didn’t know any better she might wonder _what_ that light is, where the source of that magic is coming from. But she knows now: it’s her.

And knowing that it’s her magic that envelops her, she stands tall, feeling tired but stronger than ever before. After a few blinding moments, the light surrounding her dissipates, fading gracefully as it goes, leaving her ample time for her eyes to adjust.

Adjust to the dreary metal hues of the Fright Zone. She breathes heavily as she surveys the scene before her—disoriented at yet another sudden shift in the world around her. Wires, useless and torn, lay at her feet, the heart of the signal finally destroyed and gone for good. Looking up, she scans the room, finding both Shadow Weaver and Hordak thrown backwards, unconscious on the ground. She can’t help the self-satisfied smirk, knowing it was _her_ who did that.

“Catra?” Adora calls for her once again—voice softer, full of wonder and _much_ closer than it had been moments ago.

Catra turns sharply at the sound of her name, finding Adora just a few feet away from her. Her free hand is shielding her face from the blinding light has only just faded, wires slashed around her sword. Catra doesn’t even care to know how much of a mess she must look right now, feeling fairly drained and certain her appearance is in total disarray. But there is nothing more than listless, stray wires between them and Adora looks at her with ceaseless reverence regardless.

“Hey Adora,” Catra can’t refrain from saying. They step closer to each other at the same time, Catra is forced to tilt her head up to properly look up at She-Ra’s massively, tall form.

“You’re okay,” Adora states, uncertain and amazed. Her lightened blue eyes convey the relief at that statement, arms falling to Catra’s side once they’re close enough to touch. “You came back.”

Catra isn’t fully sure what _you came back_ means, knowing only that the heart of the signal must’ve ensnared her—pulled her away from the Fright Zone with false realities in an attempt to break her down and consume her.

She lifts her arms up, fighting back a wince at what she’s certain are multitudes of bruises, bringing her hands to frame Adora’s face. “Told you I’d be fine, didn’t I?,” she teases with a soft smile.

Deftly, Catra registers movement in the background. Vaguely registers Mermista and Netossa scrambling to detain Shadow Weaver and Hordak before they regain consciousness, though she suspects that won’t be anytime soon. She can hear Mermista grumble about how she refuses to ever spar with Catra again after seeing _all of that_.

She should move, there’s something in the back of her mind telling her she needs to do _something_ , but all she can see right now is Adora—who, finally able to accept Catra is alive and well in front of her, allows herself to shift out of She-Ra. She wonders how much of what happened when she was caught in the signal is real. If she really heard Adora, or just thought she did.

With the height distance between them closed, Catra feels a magnetic pull to lean forward but then—

_Micah._

Catra remembers with in a sharp flash, a harsh intake of breath. Adora follows her look of dismay, before they both turn their attention to where Glimmer and Bow are kneeling on the floor next to him.

“He isn’t-he won’t wake up,” Glimmer reports when they hurry over, not even trying to conceal the tears that fall as she does.

“No,” Catra shakes her head in denial—because there’s no way they’ve come this far just for her to lose him now. “Can you heal him?” She asks, eyes desperate to Adora.

“I-I can try,” She offers, uncertain.

“She-Ra can only heal actual wounds and damages,” Bow disagrees, relying on the lessons from his fathers, “The poison hasn’t actually hurt him, not yet. It’s just knocked him out. But if we don’t get out of here soon—if it reaches his heart…I-it’ll be _real_ bad. The healers from Mystacor should be able to figure out something. ”

“No. Come on, Micah-” Catra tries to reach forward, to grab him, to shake him awake, to get him to snap out of whatever it is. She’ll do anything to have what Shadow Weaver said be untrue, to fight the truth that this poison could _kill_ him. Adora grabs a hold of her arms before she can, sensing that jostling him right now is _not_ a good idea. It doesn’t do much to stop Catra from choking up, from tears clouding her vision as she says, “You have to wake up. We had a deal.” _You promised you wouldn’t hurt me._

Micah never left, never walked away, never gave up on her. He couldn’t have done all that-he couldn’t have stayed through it all just to _leave_ now. But the veins of purple poison that incrementally grow up his arms suggest otherwise.

“Catra, we have to go-now,” Adora urges. Catra complies, too worried and worn to complain at the abrupt way Glimmer teleports them out of the Fright Zone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catra & adora: about to kiss  
> micah: I Am Literally Dying


	10. crown

Time moves with rapid speed: hours and seconds moving and blurring together. It feels like everything happens all at once, there are too many things for Catra to catch up on. All she can really center her attention on is Micah, monitoring the purple veins that grow up his arm with a razor sharp eye, monitoring every incremental move it makes.

She’s vaguely aware of their arrival in Mystacor, of the team of sorcerers that flank their sides and starts asking questions. Glimmer has to go to Bright Moon, has to get Angella and tell her what’s happened. She looks like she has half the mind to take Catra with her, but Catra is busy relaying what little information she has to Castaspella.

Bow is the calmest of them all, he was with Micah when Catra was caught in the signal. He fills in the details that she struggles to articulate while Glimmer takes Adora with her to Bright Moon. Glimmer is too distraught to go by herself and Catra can’t really blame her. But it looks like Adora has a hard time coming to terms with the fact that she has to release her grip on Catra’s arm, like if she lets go for even a second, Catra will fade away, disappear.

Which… _fair_. Catra can’t fault her for that either. Catra’s anxiety has kicked into high gear, she doesn’t think she can be present when Angella gets here. She doesn’t know how she can face Angella with the knowledge that she shoulders a large portion of the blame. Part of Catra is eagerly eyeing Bow, waiting for him to look away for just a second so that she can slip away. Quietly.

She won’t leave, she just needs a moment to herself. A moment to rest. She’s feeling so, so tired now. She feels like she’s run the entire gamut of emotions, and she’s so far behind on processing any of them. But Bow seems to know this-seems to at least suspect as much from her at this point. He keeps her in his peripheral view at all times.

“It’s reversible, but we need time,” Castaspella declares, sorcerers carefully lifting Micah up and into the bed.

Catra and Bow exchange a weary glance. “Um, how much time?”

“It looks like the poison was infused with Shadow Weaver’s dark magic. We’ll have to comb through the texts and determine the best way to separate the two before siphoning out the poison,” Casta explains, but it doesn’t provide much in the way of an answer.

“Yeah, that sounds like time we don’t have,” Catra grouses, standing up and walking over to the bed. She examines his arm again, dismaying at the way the purple veins have spread to the top of his shoulder.

Curiously, she reaches her hand forward and touches the raised, purple marks.

“He won’t regain consciousness until we remove both the magic and the poison,” Casta follows her over, “But if we can stop the spread, it’ll buy us more time.”

“How the hell are we supposed to do that?” Catra bites out, tired of talk and wanting action.

Catra’s certain she has to be run dry at this point. There can’t possibly be any magic left within her, not that she’s even certain how magic works in that regard. She feels drained-all energy depleted after destroying the signal.

But when she touches his arm, she feels a small spark in the center of her palm. She’s practiced enough, trained enough to know what that is-the beginning of magic. But she isn’t sure what good her magic can do them now. It’s _fire_ , after all.

Bow and Casta notice this, looking over Catra with genuine interest.

“Fire can be healing,” Is all Casta says. Catra fixes her with a glare, very much unimpressed with the vague sense of guidance that Micah has clearly passed onto his sister.

“She’s right, Catra,” Bow explains, “Maybe not _healing_ entirely, but we- _I_ saw what your magic did back there. Maybe it’s worth a try, maybe it can at least slow the effect of the poison.”

Catra narrows her eyes at him, just for good measure. She guesses that could be true. Micah has always told her about how magic follows instinct. If she can just _visualize_ what she needs to do.

It’s worth a shot.

She leans forward and grabs a hold of Micah’s arm. She feels the dark energy of Shadow Weaver’s magic pulsing underneath his skin-she’s so familiar with it by this point. Closing her eyes, she focuses on it the best she can. She tries to recall everything Micah has taught her, every grueling hour spent in the Bright Moon library. It all has to amount to something; to _this_.

Catra feels that warm, orange glow flowing out of her and into Micah. It is burning, but it is also _stopping_. Micah groans from the pain, but Casta urges her to continue, promising her that must mean it’s working.

When Catra realizes she’s completely drained, with no magic left to expend, she pulls her hand away and hopes it was _enough_. Her breathing is ragged and her vision swims when she dutifully watches the orange glow of her magic intertwine with the purple veins—intermingling and stopping the poison in its tracks. Casta squeezes her shoulder, says words that Catra can’t quite discern.

“Did it work?” Catra asks. Bow looks at her in astonishment, assuring her it must’ve, but she can’t really hear him either.

“Catra? Catra!” He calls her, but it sounds like his voice is under water.

“’M fine,” She shakes her head at him-she really is fine. She’s more than fine, actually. Relieved that the poison has at least been slowed. That Micah’s odds have been increased.

She just needs to sit down. Just for a minute. Catch her breath-and then she’ll _really_ be fine. Halfheartedly she pushes him aside when he reaches for her.

Bow yells something over her, trying to get someone else’s attention and grabbing Catra as she sways to the side. She follows his stare and sees that Adora has returned with Glimmer and Angella in tow. Casta is talking to them, but they’re all staring at her, which is ridiculous because they need to focus on Micah right now, not her. Besides, she’s fine as long as Arrow Boy helps her stand. It’s no big deal.

She’s certainly been through worse. And really, right now, it could be worse.

And when her body final gives into days-long pent up exhaustion and collapses, Adora is right there to catch her.

* * *

Two minutes. Adora was gone for maybe all of _two_ minutes. She didn’t even want to leave Catra’s side for those two minutes-but she knew she couldn’t leave Glimmer alone to relay the news to Queen Angella.

Still, she can’t help but feel a little angry-a little panicked when Catra collapses in her arms. They’re quick to move her to her own room, to set her up in own bed and get to work on dressing her wounds.

And there are a lot of wounds. Adora tries to push her growing anger aside and surmounting need to fix aside, but her hand shakes and she realizes she might not even be helping. She’s mad at herself, mad at the way she can’t summon She-Ra right now when Catra needs her.

It takes the gentle, calming touch of a healer to kindly ask her to let them take over, as this is what they do best, before Adora steps away. After Adora is ushered out of Catra’s room and told in no uncertain terms that they need a little bit of _space_ , she isn’t quite sure where to go.

She’s not leaving Mystacor. That’s for sure. She can’t let Catra out of a 20 foot radius for at least a month. Maybe two. And even then, she’s going to have to be on guard. Catra was right next to her when she slipped away the first time, Adora can’t let that happen again.

She’s pacing the hallway, still wildly uncertain of what to do or where to go. She isn’t sure where Bow and Glimmer are, and the rest of the Alliance is likely still recovering on Bright Moon.

“Adora?” She turns her head to see Angella just a bit further down the hallway, lingering outside of Micah’s room.

“Oh-um, your majesty,” Adora doesn’t ordinarily stumble through her greetings with the Queen so much anymore. But the look of devastation and pure horror on Angella’s face when they returned to Bright Moon has left Adora feeling a bit unsettled.

Adora can’t get a read on the Queen’s expression right now though, it’s carefully neutral.

“Did they kick you out of the room too?” Adora ventures to ask as she approaches. She winces when Angella just blinks at her in response.

It’s that type of stoic expression, the unpredictability of her response that offset their relationship when Adora first came to Bright Moon. All told, she doesn’t know how Catra _did it._ How she managed to get Angella to warm up to her so quickly, especially given her relationship with prior authority figures. Maybe it helped that Micah had taken such a liking to Catra—scratch that, it was probably due to the fact that Catra had quite literally saved his life twice.

Possibly even three times, now.

Or maybe it was because Catra didn’t try so hard to win Angella’s favor. Not like Adora.

“Mhm,” Angella hums in response, “Indeed they did. My sister-in-law was very quick to remind me that they know what they’re doing, and that they are not governed by royalty here.”

Adora winces at that. She imagines that is salt on an open wound. Surely, this has to be one of Angella’s greatest nightmares come to life. She thought she lost Micah for good once before, only to get him back and come so dangerously close to losing him all over again. And now, confronted with that pain, she’s reminded how very little control she has. That there’s nothing she can do right now to help.

Adora understands that feeling all too well. 

“I’m sorry,” Adora says, clasping her hand over her elbow-feeling a bit useless. It’s true, though. Adora does feel sorry. She’s certain there could’ve been a different, better outcome to their current situation. Maybe if she fought harder-

“Adora,” Angella’s voice is sharp-enough to wretch Adora away from her spiral, “Please. You have nothing to apologize for.”

There’s nothing but burning sincerity in the Queen’s eyes and exhaustion in her tone. Adora swallows thickly and nods in response. Angella is, understandably, upset right now too. Even if Adora doesn’t believe her, she knows debating it is out of the question.

“How is Catra?” Angella asks, nodding at the closed door in front of them. _Catra_. Angella’s says her name with an emotion that Adora can’t quite place. She isn’t certain how the Queen feels about her now. She must be relieved Catra isn’t in mortal danger. But she also can’t be thrilled at her condition either.

“Um, she should be okay. She just needs rest, I think,” Adora stammers. She isn’t really sure-should she be trying to assure the Queen right now? Or just relay the only information she has?

Angella just smiles sadly at the door before looking down at her hands, “Well. I don’t suppose there’s any use in us just standing here.”

Adora isn’t certain what she means by that, before taking it as an invitation to follow Angella as she walks down the corridor. Absently, she hopes Glimmer or Bow will appear soon. She hasn’t really spent much time alone with Angella before, and she isn’t sure _what_ to do.

Every step away from Catra grinds on her nerves too. She’s afraid of going away too far. What if Catra wakes up and Adora isn’t right outside of her door?

“A watched pot never boils,” Angella admonishes, sensing Adora’s nervous energy from her side. They stop walking though, once they reach a set of couches. Angella motions for her to sit down and then takes the seat next to her.

Adora feels her posture is rigid-she makes sure to sit up straight. Angella sighs next to her and asks, “How are you, Adora?”

“Me?” Adora looks over at her in question. “Oh, I’m fine! I mean, got a few bruises from some of the wires but really, nothing too bad.”

Angella looks at her, earnest worry in her eyes. “I meant-how are you _feeling_?”

“Um,” Adora just blinks back at her. Does Angella really want to _know_? She’s already dealing with so much and Adora can totally handle this on her own. She just needs Catra to wake up. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t have to be,” Angella points out, “I know you how very strong and capable you are, Adora. And I know that just because you don’t have any physical wounds from today doesn’t necessarily mean you are ‘fine’.”

Adora tears her eyes away from Angella. She wasn’t prepared to be so… _seen_.

“I just…I don’t know,” Adora frowns, “I feel like…everyone is really hurt. And I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t stop it. And I-I thought they were going to kill her. Sh-Shadow Weaver said,” Adora pauses, hating the way her voice shakes at the memory. Really, she’s okay, she shouldn’t be _so upset._ “She said the poison could _kill_ her. If I didn’t give up the sword-and I know it’s wrong but I almost _gave_ up. I couldn’t watch her die-and then-then she was in the heart of the signal, and I tried to get her out but I couldn’t. I tried-I kept fighting and calling her but it-I just couldn’t get through to her. I couldn’t help her-“

“You don’t know that for certain.” Angella reminds her, “Sometimes we have to let the ones we love fight for themselves every now and then. We can support them and help them, and that is enough.”

“It’s not enough,” Adora argues, shoulders deflating at the confession, “I wasn’t-wasn’t enough. She-Ra wasn’t enough. And I…just hoped-I don’t know.”

She trails off, looking to Angella-hoping the older woman will have something to say. To interrupt or cut in with, if only so she can stop herself from continuing to ramble. But Angella reads her well and can sense there’s something else Adora needs to get off her chest.

“I hoped…things were different. With Catra. And I mean-they are! I get why she left but…it still-I don’t know why didn’t trust me enough to tell me what Shadow Weaver was putting her up to,” Adora bites her lip, frowning.

“Would you have told her, if the roles were reversed?” Angella asks. Adora’s immediate inclination is to say _yes, of course_ , but she’s interrupted, “If you thought telling her would put her in harm’s way?”

And her mouth shuts abruptly at that. She wouldn’t willingly put Catra in harm’s way but…

 _“Please-I love you and I can’t-won’t lose you again!”_

That’s because she knows how she feels about Catra. She meant what she said, she isn’t even sure if Catra heard her or if _anything_ got through to her at all…but she meant it. She loves Catra. Knowing that-finally being able to label that previously unnamable feeling, lifts a weight off of her shoulders.

She just doesn’t know if Catra feels the same way. Or even close to it.

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“I’m not saying what she did was right,” Angella huffs, “Trust me, there are _several_ conversations that have to take place- many of which are long overdue. It was reckless and foolish and- _ahem_ ,” She rights herself before she can get too carried away, “But I’ll be attending to those matters later. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t believe it was a matter of trust for Catra.”

Angella might be right about that. Adora sighs, “I…I really care about her,” She can’t bring herself to say it out loud again. It still feels too fragile. “And I guess she doesn’t feel the same-and that's okay-I’m _fine_ with that! I’m just-I’m glad she’s okay-“

“Adora,” Angella interrupts her, looking completely aghast, “What in all of Greater Etheria would _ever_ make you think that Catra doesn’t care about you?”

She blushes at that, “I mean. I know she _cares_. I just-what I feel…is deeper than that.”

It’s embarrassing to admit to Queen Angella of all people, and that's the closest Adora can force herself to saying it. It’s enough, though, if the knowing smile that Angella gives her is any indication. Angella sends her a soft stare, placing her hand over where Adora has balled hers into a fist into the material of her pants. She squeezes gently, a wordless message of _it’s okay._ It’s all the affirmation Adora needs, and she lets out a shaky exhale.

“You’re very brave, Adora,” Angella remarks, “I’ve always admired you for that.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“ _Caring_ for someone like that can be very difficult to admit,” Angella is careful to use the placebo word, “Difficult to let yourself feel. You’ve grown quite a bit since my daughter first snuck you into Bright Moon. I’m proud of you.”

There is no backhanded remark lingering in the compliment. No ‘you were great at this, but here’s what you can do better next time’. There’s just kindness-and even though Adora has more experience with it than Catra, it can still be difficult to accept.

She swallows thickly, trying to choke out a _thanks_ , but there’s too much emotion in her voice.

Adora can’t believe Angella is comforting her right now. It feels like it should be the other way around. But Adora knows that…sometimes, when she’s feeling upset, it helps her to feel like she’s helping someone else. Maybe this is what Angella needs right now, too. Since they both can’t do anything for Micah or Catra right now.

Opting for a more lighthearted subject, Angella says, “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you about the Ivy Runes.”

A little shocked about the dramatic change in conversation, Adora just blinks at her.

“Did you see the lights?” Angella asks.

“Um, yeah,” Adora recalls, unable to keep the smile off of her face as she thinks about that night. How pretty they were, intertwined with the orange glow of fire. “Why? Doesn’t everyone?”

“Well, no one is _meant_ to be down there,” Angella reminds her with a coy smile , “The lights are somewhat of an urban legend. Perhaps you should catch up on your Etherian lore.”

 _Huh_ , Adora makes a noise of confusion. She hadn’t heard much about them before, hasn’t had time to even look into it more or think twice about it.

“Of course, Catra might know a thing or two about them,” Angella teases, “Sounds like you two might have a lot to catch up on.”

This puzzles Adora further-wondering what more Catra could’ve discovered after that day. “What did you say the lights were called again?”

Before Angella can respond, they hear the scuffle of footsteps down the hall. A healer, the one who had kicked Adora out, approaches with a serious look on their face.

Instinctively, Adora feels her stomach swoop low, but Angella squeezes her hand in reassurance again.

“We’ve tended to all of the wounds—and believe me, there were quite a few,” They relay, stiffly. Adora’s jaw clenches tightly at that. “It seems as though… _Shadow Weaver_ was not gentle. There were wounds from the celebration we had to bandage as well.”

That explains their cold demeanor a bit. Adora figures that no one on Mystacor must be too fond of Shadow Weaver. Catra probably will want to stay here forever in that case—Adora almost snorts at the thought, but the healer begins speaking again, tone grave and serious.

“Her body has shown serious signs of exhaustion. And not just from the last few days either—it seems as though she hasn’t been enough rest or proper nutrition for a few weeks at least,” They explain, trying to keep accusations out of their voice. Adora looks to Angella in concern—they knew she’d been working herself hard to prepare for the celebration-which at this point, feels like a _lifetime_ ago. But they didn’t know just how bad it had gotten, “And you mentioned she’d been dealing with migraines?”

“That’s correct,” Angella confirms. Her brows are pinched with worry, frown playing at the bottom of her lips. She must be feeling the same as Adora right now.

“That was from the heart of the signal,” Adora offers, unsure of how much the Queen has been filled in, “We-uh, we didn’t know that the Horde had brought it back from Beast Island. And that’s what was causing them. But uh-she, Catra destroyed it. So that shouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

Angella didn’t know that. Not if the way she grips Adora’s hand a bit tighter is any indication.

“I see,” The healer nods, “Hopefully that will be the end of them, then. However, if they reappear, you have to let us know immediately. We can do some tests and figure out if they’re a…consequence of long term exposure to the signal.”

Adora pales—she doesn’t like the sound of that.

“We’ve given her a sedative to help her rest. She’ll hopefully sleep through the rest of the night.”

“So-she’s okay?” Adora asks, anxiously.

They sigh. “She’s okay. It will take her a while to heal-even longer because her body doesn’t have much energy to work with in the first place. She’ll need to be on bedrest for quite some time. If you believe she’d be more comfortable in Bright Moon, we can arrange that-but not until tomorrow afternoon the _earliest_.”

They say the last part with such conviction, but it’s more than okay with Adora.

“Can I see her?” Adora asks—her impatience seems to be off putting to the healer, but she couldn’t care less.

They nod, and Adora rises—ready to sprint down that hallway, but Angella stays put on the couch.

“You go ahead Adora,” Angella permits, softly, “We have some additional details to discuss here.”

Adora looks between the both of them—she isn’t certain if the _details_ are about Catra, or Micah. Or both of them. But she isn’t going to question it, nodding quickly before running down the hallway.

* * *

When Catra awakes her mind is groggy and slowed but her heart is beating fast. It’s an uncomfortable mismatch because it feels like her brain can’t quite catch up with her body. Blinking slowly, the feeling of discomfort only grows when she realizes she’s in an unfamiliar room, wondering just how exactly she even _got_ here before the events of the last few days come crashing through her mind.

She sits up a bit straighter in her bed- in _Mystacor_ , she reminds herself, feeling the beginnings of panic in her fingertips. Any movement brings forth a great deal of pain and she already feels exhausted even though she’s feels like she’s been sleeping for an eternity.

She isn’t sure where she needs to go, but she knows she can’t just be laying in this bed, doing nothing. Maybe she can find Micah’s room. If Micah’s okay-

Without another thought, she attempts to push herself off of the bed but is held firmly in place by something on her wrist. Indignantly, she recoils back and looks down at her hand. When she moves it again, a flash of light magic appears, tying her to the bedframe.

 _Are you fucking serious?_ Her face drops, highly unimpressed. Part of her knows that it’s a fair measure to ensure she doesn’t take off again, especially given that was what she was about to do, but that only makes her feel more petulant.

“Catra?” Adora calls her name and she snaps her head in the direction of the sound. Her voice is soft, muffled with sleep; instantly Catra feels any flash of irritation drain out of her when she sees Adora, curled up on a chair in the corner not too far from the bed. She looks so… _tired_. Hair fraying from the usual, tight ponytail.

Instead she feels such an overwhelming sense of guilt in that moment, knowing she’s likely the source of Adora’s exhaustion-she almost wonders how she ever viewed Adora has the enemy. How she ever could’ve faced in her in the battlefield and intentionally wounded her. Briefly, she wonders too, if it really came down to it and Catra had to inflict _serious_ damage…if she’d be able to.

She swallows thickly at the thought. Wondering when she’s gotten so _soft_ or if maybe she always had been this way for Adora. But it was just never safe to be, so she had to shove it down. Repress it and sharpen herself to hurt before she could get hurt.

And yet, even after everything-after promising herself she’d never hurt Adora again…it looks like she wasn’t able to manage that. She needs more time before facing Adora, needs to come up with some emotional defense or excuse-or way to prepare herself when Adora ultimately tells her off and decides she can’t be in Catra’s life-

 _No. Stop._ Her mind puts those thoughts to an uncharacteristic halt. But she’s still so tired- tired of assuming, tired of making herself suffer because she assumes she knows what other people want.

Catra did what she had to do. She did it to protect them. Because she loves them-and she’s come to realize that the love may be mutual. And if that's the case, she has to eventually train herself not to make these assumptions. It won’t be easy but she has a feeling _someone_ will be helpful and overly knowledgeable in that area—

“Micah?” It isn’t what Catra needs to say to Adora right now, but it’s the only word Catra can manage, throat feeling incredibly dry. Adora flashes her a small smile, like she was expecting that. Catra can’t return it, not right now, not before knowing the possibility that he might-that maybe she’ll have to do this _alone_ and he might be gone because she-and Shadow Weaver…

“Here,” Adora gets up and hands her a glass of water. Catra is alarmed at how _heavy_ the glass feels in her hand, how does she feel so weak right now? After feeling like she’s slept for forever? But she isn’t surprised that the magical restraints allow her to move freely so long as she isn’t trying to get up.

Adora’s hand lingers by the glass, eyes soft and shining as she watches Catra down all of the water with a grimace. _Drinking_ water shouldn’t be painful right now and yet…At least Adora allows her to retain some dignity and doesn’t overstep or try to hold the glass for her. Just when Catra’s finished, she puts the glass on the stable next to the bed-which Catra _could_ have done herself but if Adora wants to help…Catra will let her.

“Micah’s okay. You-um, your magic helped stop the poison from spreading. The sorcerers are looking for a way to remove Shadow Weaver’s magic and heal him, but it’ll take a while,” Adora explains, sitting back down in the chair. It doesn’t look like it could be comfortable, and Catra frowns at her when she does.

The bed isn’t _large_ , but it’s big enough for the two of them. Catra wants Adora to sit next to her, wants to feel the warmth of her skin against hers again like it was the night Catra left. She swallows thickly, wondering if they’ll ever have that again. She isn’t sure _how_ upset Adora is with her-sure, Adora had come to the Fright Zone to save her, but that didn’t mean Adora would forgive her. The thought of it makes Catra _way_ too emotional and she becomes certain that the fault lies with whatever it is the healers had given her. Or the end result of an exhausting series of events.

 _I love you._ \- Catra was so certain it was Adora’s voice she heard when she was stuck in the signal. But it feels too good to be true, and now it feels like there’s that divide between them again

“Hey, it’s okay,” Adora tries to comfort, looking cautious. Like she doesn’t want to overstep, even though overstepping is sort of exactly what Catra wants her to do right now. “He’s going to be fine, we have time to figure it out-“

Of course it’s a relief to know Micah isn’t _dead_ and there’s a hopeful prognosis, but that’s not it. Adora doesn’t know why Catra is tearing up right now.

There doesn’t need to be a great divide. Catra doesn’t want to work backwards, she didn’t just fight for her life only to throw it away in the face of a bit of vulnerability.

Still, despite her resolve, she is _tired_. Exhausted and thoroughly worn and words are still hard to form right now-so she just shifts over as best as she can and gestures to the empty space next to her.

She doesn’t get to add the ‘only if you want to’ stipulation before Adora’s eyes widen and she eagerly-but _gently_ , climbs into the bed. They sit shoulder to shoulder for an awkward second and Catra becomes fully aware that the ball is very much in her court. If she wants to fix things, she’s going to have to do some legwork. So she takes Adora’s arm and places it over her own shoulder, laying her head on Adora’s chest.

Catra can feel Adora’s breath hitch, hear her heart skip irrhythmically and looks up to her in question. She blinks slowly in surprise when she sees the tears pooling in Adora’s eyes.

“Wh-what? Why are you-?” In concern, Catra is about to pull away, but Adora catches her other arm before she does and pulls her even closer. She is gentle and the embrace is soft—so impossibly soft but so all-encompassing that Catra feels like she could cry too. Like Adora had just been waiting for a sign from Catra before her own walls could dissolve just a bit.

She was waiting for Catra to come to her—Catra understands that now. Adora needs to be _shown_ that Catra wants her here. And it’s fair, given how Catra left in the first place.

That is the problem, Catra realizes. She thought everything through before leaving Bright Moon. And had the situation played out like she assumed it would—had no one come to save her, she wouldn’t be here in Adora’s arms right now at a loss for words. She couldn’t have planned for this, couldn’t have accounted for it, she was so wrapped up in protecting the people she cared about that she had become blind to how much she meant to them as well.

The thought of that-of realizing how much not only everyone means to her but how much _she_ meant to everyone…it makes her heart lurch. While it’s still not easy to believe, it’s not exactly something she can even bother refuting.

But that doesn’t matter now-because she can’t even _see_ Adora, Adora has tucked Catra against her neck, pressing her own face to the top of Catra’s head and her other arm circling Catra’s shoulders to cradle the side of her face. She doesn't need to see Adora to tell that she is very much crying- she can tell from the gasps in her breath and the tears that roll down her face.

Catra feels her heart clench. It’s very _rare_ to see Adora cry and she can’t suppress that feeling of guilty. There is another part of her that feels a bit venerated to be able to see Adora like this, open and vulnerable, and be able to comfort her still. A sign of that their closeness hasn’t been entirely lost.

So Catra relaxes into the embrace-lets Adora hold her, breathes to let her know she’s _okay_ , she’s here-and she’s not going anywhere. She nuzzles in closer to Adora’s neck, enjoying the warmth. She can’t move too much aside from that, but tries to rub what she hopes are soothing circles into the side of Adora’s arm.

“I’m sorry,” Adora says when Catra touches her arm, voice shaky and words only discernible because Catra is _right_ there and listening to them. It’s enough for Catra to try to reel back, eyebrows pinched together and look at her in confusion—if only Adora would let her _move_. If anything, Adora tightens her hold, like she can’t look at Catra right now. But Adora has nothing to apologize for—least of all in this situation-“You’re the one who’s hurt and I’m being selfish-“

 _Okay._ That’s it-Catra isn’t about to let her play the selfless hero card and beat herself up for having the audacity to _feel_ things. She moves her head from where it was very comfortably leaning into Adora, “Only you would risk your life to save someone, not once but _twice_ now, sit here for hours in what I’m assuming is the world’s most uncomfortable chair—probably not having eaten or slept, and still find a way to call yourself _selfish_.”

And Adora at least has the sense to look a bit embarrassed at that, face flushing but _thankfully_ not crying anymore. Her eyes still look sad when she speaks again, “You-you don’t understand, Catra. When I woke up the next morning and you were gone…”

Catra feels her defenses raise, tempted to jump the gun and insist she was right-she did was she had to do and there was no other way. But she takes pause, pushing the urge down and opting to hear Adora out, even if it hurts to be confronted with the hurt she’s caused.

She forces herself to relax with a deep exhale, allowing Adora to continue, “I…didn’t think anything of it. I was just so…happy you even came to me that night. I was sure there was no way you’d just leave-and then I felt like such an _idiot_.” Catra grimaces at that, knowing what it’s like to be played for a fool. 

“Adora,” Catra frowns, trying to look in her eyes, but Adora looks down and shakes her head.

“We were worried you went back to the Horde. Or you were working with them the whole time. And I want to tell you I never doubted you for a second, but I-I _did_ , because I still couldn’t understand how you’d just leave like that. And the Lonnie told us everything,” _Ah_. That explains how they knew to come for Catra in the first place. “And then I was so mad at myself for just… _letting_ you go. For not realizing what you were doing-for falling for it again.”

 _It?_ Catra shifts back and Adora lets her, looking ashamed, guilty.

“I should’ve _known_ something was up,” Adora scoffs, but the sound isn’t really funny, “And then-we didn’t-I didn’t even have time to _think_ because I was so worried about what would happen if Hordak knew you were trying to trick him. Scorpia told me-told me what happened after he found out Shadow Weaver escaped. And I was so worried we wouldn’t get there in time-and I couldn’t protect you, I couldn’t _help_ you, and then you were there and you were alive, but then Shadow Weaver was going to use the poison bots-“

“Hey,” Catra tries again, placing her hands on Adora’s face in an effort to detract her thoughts.

But Adora’s fully in it now, “And then you were stuck in the signal. Catra you were-you don’t understand, you were stuck there for so _long_. I tried to get through to you, I kept calling you-but I couldn’t-couldn’t get to you-“

That gives Catra pause. She _did_ hear Adora call to her. Was that real? Did that mean…

 _No._ Catra knows now isn’t the time for that. They can talk about that later. They can talk it all over later. But right now there are more pressing matters to attend to.

She tightens her grip on Adora’s face, leans forward until her head is resting against Adora’s. The close proximity is enough to get Adora to take a long shuddery breath, steady herself and close her eyes before continuing, “I’m sorry for being selfish. It all just…hit me at once, but you’re okay and that’s what matters. You’re the one who’s hurt- how are you-“

“You’re _not_ selfish,” Catra argues, genuine heat in her words, “And you’re not an idiot.”

Adora laughs wetly at that, and Catra can’t really fault her, “I think we need to get the healer back in here and take a look at your head. If _you’re_ saying you don’t think I’m an idiot-“

“You’re not an idiot for _that_ ,” Catra scoffs, “A lot of other things, sure. But…” her voice turns solemn, the brief flash of lightheartedness has quickly disappeared. “You trusted me. I told you things would be different-“

“Catra,” Adora opens her eyes, but Catra averts her gaze to the side.

“I-look, I did what I had to do, alright?” She pulls away, wincing at her own tone. “I know it was dumb and dangerous and I should’ve told you but I thought if I did I’d get you all hurt. Or worse.”

“We could’ve thought of something together,” Adora points out, “Instead of you feeling like you had to do this all on you own.”

“But—shouldn’t I have?” Catra challenges, “I mean-I’m the one who _ruined_ the celebration because the Horde was after me. Angella almost died trying to protect me-and the Horde…the Horde wouldn’t have even been a problem if I just…if I didn’t build them into what they were. People got hurt. You got hurt. I-it was my fault. And then there was an opportunity to _stop_ more people from getting hurt. And it’ll never undo everything I’ve done but it was _something._ I thought I just…I don’t know, I owed it to everyone to take care of it myself. It was the least I could do. After everything.”

After a beat of silence, Adora laments, “I understand. I don’t… _agree_ but…I understand.”

Catra looks up to her, so certain that has to be a _lie_ , but only finds acceptance in Adora’s eyes. Of course Adora would understand, Catra realizes, no one gets self-sacrificial bullshit quite like her.

“I…okay, I know this sounds like bullshit, after everything that just happened,” Catra swallows thickly. She doesn’t really want to go through this, it’s _embarrassing_ , but she knows she owes Adora an explanation, “But I didn’t think…if I left…anyone would be upset. I mean, after like a day I assumed everyone would just-I don’t know, _move on?_ Be glad the Horde didn’t have a bounty over their head anymore? I know that sounds bad, but I…I didn’t think it would matter. I didn’t think it would hurt you. I know now that it did, and I’m sorry. It was so stupid-“

“How could you think it wouldn’t matter?” Adora interrupts, voice louder than it’s been. She’s shocked, though, not angry, “How-how could you think we’d just move on? That _I’d_ just move on?”

“I’m not used to people caring!” Catra defends, sharply. “All of my— _our_ life it’s been about strategy, and what you can bring to the table. Either you're a strength or a weakness. Shadow Weaver only used me to get to you, and well, you know now what happened the moment I failed Hordak. The only person I thought who cared left-“

“Catra,” Adora reels back, “I-“

Catra doesn’t let her interrupt, “But that's-ugh, that’s not the point—the point is…I fucked up. Alright? I’m not used to people actually caring about me. I’m used to being the one who cares the most and getting left behind—and I don’t, I’m not mad at you anymore and I know why you did it now, but…the scars don’t just go away overnight. I just never felt like I mattered. Even after everything-with meeting Micah and coming to Bright Moon—I just. I always thought that no one would… _care_ about me the way I cared about them. So I didn’t think that me leaving would be that big of a deal for you guys.”

Adora’s looking at her, processing the words, face morphing into something akin to heartbreak. It’s way too close to pity.

“Don’t look at me like that. I just-it was stupid. I didn’t think anyone cared, so I thought leaving was doing everyone a favor,” Catra reiterates, “And obviously, I was wrong and you guys do care or whatever and I know that now. And I’m sorry.”

The words are still sharp, not soft and gentle, but Catra means them. Adora is quiet for a beat before saying, “Catra…I’m sorry-“

“Ugh, we just went through this,” she groans, “You have nothing to be sorry for, is what I’m trying to tell you!”

“No, I do!” Adora argues-Catra can’t believe they’re _arguing_ about this. But then her voice turns softer again, “I made you feel like I didn’t care. I never got it, why you were so surprised we came to find you on Beast Island, I didn’t know it was because you really thought I didn’t care about you.”

Catra just blushes at that, turning her face away, but Adora catches her face with her hands.

“And I’m _so_ sorry I made you feel that way,” Adora says, eyes earnest.

“It wasn’t _just_ you-“ Catra tries to remind her, before Adora can absorb all of the guilt for herself, but Adora doesn’t let her.

“And I’m sorry I just…let you believe that. And I never made this clearer,” Adora swallows, eyes flicking uncertainly—like she’s debating what to say, “But…you-you mean the world to me.” Another pause, and Catra wants so desperately to look away, the emotion swelling in her chest and becoming hard to bear, but she _can’t_. “I care about you. So much.”

It’s bordering on _too much_ and Catra’s initial reaction is to push it away, to label it as a lie and insist Adora doesn’t mean it. But, thinking reflexively, she realizes she really would _not_ like it if Adora did that to her. Besides, Adora is bad at lying—hasn’t even been given the time to come up with a lie about this and…all of her actions validate her words. She came for Catra on Beast Island, returned to the Fright Zone for her, and she’s _here_ now.

That doesn’t make it _easy_ to accept the feeling or the words that have been foreign to her for her entire life. But she knows it’s there now, and it’s something she’s willing to work on-to fight her own insecurities for, every day.

“I…” Catra pauses-stuck not knowing what to say. It’s like now that she’s acknowledged that feeling of _love_ , she can’t help but want to say it. But it’s not the same for her as it is for Adora, and she can’t add that level of complication right now. “It’s okay. I-I’m not going to lie to you and act like I just…believe it but—”

“That’s okay, you don’t have to,” Adora interjects, “I’ll prove it.”

“I don’t want you to do that,” Catra declines, “I don’t want you to feel like this is something you have to fix or work on or that you have to prove something to me. I…I messed up too. Because I told myself I wasn’t going to hurt you anymore and I still did. And I didn’t _want_ to because I really…care about you too. You mean a lot to me and I-“ The sentence is fragmented, grogginess pulling at her brain has caused her to lose the intent of what she’s trying to say. She just hopes the message is clear enough.

If the smile on Adora’s face, soft and hopeful, or the way Adora gently rubs her thumbs across Catra’s cheeks is any indication—she’d say it is.

“Then how about…we work on it...together?” Adora phrases it like a question, and Catra wants to snort—as if she could say _no_ to that.

The gears click in Catra’s mind, finally recognizing that being let in, allowed to help and accepted is all Adora may have wanted from her.

“That might just be your best plan yet,” Catra affirms and Adora all-but _beams_ at her in response.

She pulls Catra in again, ever mindful of the bruising, and rests her head on top of hers. Catra lets herself be pulled into Adora’s warm embrace, smiling into her collarbone and closing her eyes.

Catra may have not planned for this, may not have ever predicted _this_ particular outcome, but she’s more than content to just lie there and let the sound of Adora’s heartbeat pull her back into a deep, restful sleep.

* * *

“Heard you’re the person I need to talk to about getting these removed,” Catra clears her throat and makes a show of trying to leave the bed in order to demonstrate the magical restraints.

Even though she knows that Angella knows _exactly_ what she’s talking about since the Queen herself is the one who put them there in the first place. 

Catra feels a bit better now and the healers have cleared her to return to Bright Moon where she is going to stay on ‘strict bedrest’—an order so outrageous she can’t even bring herself to _pretend_ like she’ll follow through with it. Even though…she isn’t exactly sure what she’ll do now, anyway. Now that there is no celebration to plan and…she’s down an all-knowing sorcerer to train her.

It leaves her feeling a little bit hollow. But at least she gets to see him before they leave for Bright Moon. Adora told her he’ll likely remain unconscious until they can figure out how to get the poison out, but if Catra can just get visual confirmation that he’s okay she can rest easier.

Speaking of Adora, Catra _really_ wishes she was here right now. But she’s waiting outside with Bow and Glimmer. She made a hasty exit when Angella arrived to give them a moment to themselves—to ‘catch up’. A little bit of fear coils within Catra, icy and chilling, now that she’s alone with Angella. She doesn’t know how Angella feels about her right now, but she figures she’s certainly deserved whatever emotion it may be.

The fear doesn’t lessen when Angella, with all of her usual grace, approaches the side of the bed with an expression that Catra can’t read.

“It’s not like I can _run_ away now,” Catra scrambles to say-to fill the empty air between them with words, “I mean-I don’t even know this place anyway. There’s nowhere I could go that you or your daughter wouldn’t be able to find.”

“Thought it through, have you?” Angella asks in an even tone.

Catra thinks she’s referring to thinking something else through. If Angella is upset with her—fine, she’s upset with her. Catra knows she’s deservers it and won’t try to change Angella’s mind. But she’s not going to dance around the subject, she’ll just face it head on. And if Angella is still mad then _whatever_ , Catra will just have to deal with it.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, alright?” Catra snaps, “I know now it was wrong. Believe me, I heard it enough from Adora and from your husband. Okay, so if you want to be mad, be mad. But I did think it through, I just didn’t think anyone would care and if I knew Micah was going to get hurt I wouldn’t have done it! Okay?”

Maybe Catra still isn’t performing at one-hundred percent because her rant leaves her a little breathless.

Angella doesn’t say anything, lifting her hands to undo the restraints without a word. And that’s worse somehow. She’d rather Angella be mad and screaming at her, rather than just –

Her heart calms down when Angella sits down on the edge of the bed, angling her body to face Catra. Her wings fan out, a pale pink that contrasts the deeper shades of blue that cover the room.

“So that explains your… _decision_ to handle this particular situation on your own. What about the day of the celebration? When you refused to see the healer? Or what about the _weeks_ you went by, overworking yourself, not eating, not sleeping?” Angella asks her sharply, but her eyes are concerned. “You’ve been running yourself ragged before any of this happened. And why? To prove yourself to us?”

Catra opens her mouth and shuts it—not expecting the Queen to _read_ her like that.

“I’m worried about my foolish husband who’s made an impressive career out of running headfirst into things without thinking,” Angella states, “But that is not your fault. And I will not allow for any more self-blame on the issue.”

Her tone is authoritative—not at all angry or yelling, but it is indisputable nonetheless. Catra purses her lips, suppressing the need to argue, to remind her that Micah wouldn’t be hurt if he wasn’t chasing after _her_.

“He couldn’t let anything happen to you,” Angella points out, “And if I were there, I would’ve done the same.” The sentiment hits like a punch to the gut for Catra, but Angella carries on, “And I’m _worried_ about you, Catra. I’m worried that you’ve been so intent on punishing yourself that we nearly lost you. And I’m truly at a loss for what more I- _we_ can do to show you that Bright Moon is your home. That you’re welcome here, and we don’t need you to prove yourself or anything of the sort. We just care that you are _safe_ and healthy.”

Catra winces at that—remembering the papers. Remembering their offer-their promise. Wishing she hadn’t ruined it the way she had.

“You are more than welcome to stay in Bright Moon. But should you choose to leave, you will not be allowed to do so until the healers clear you,” Angella explains, shifting away and moving further down the bed so that Catra can get up if she chooses. “You know…I really believed we had gotten through to you, but it seems as though I was mistaken.”

Catra can feel her heart break at that. Shadow Weaver has told her all of her life that she’s a disappointment, but somehow knowing that she’s disappointed Angella hurts worse. She takes a deep breath, not sure what to say but knowing she has to say _something_ -“I’m so—”

“When Shadow Weaver showed us the letter you had left behind for Micah,” Angella shakes her head, “I had hoped you would’ve at least had something to say to me.”

Pinching her brows together, Catra tries to piece together what Angella is talking about. _What note?_ Catra didn’t write a note. The only person that got anything even remotely resembling a goodbye was Adora and Catra hasn’t even written a note since-

_Oh._

That note. Of _course_ Shadow Weaver got her hands on it, that _bitch_ -

Catra sits up and rearranges herself so she’s sitting next to Angella, understanding her hurt now. It would’ve been a real dick move for her to say goodbye to Micah and nothing to Angella. She might be closer to Micah, but she’s never had…someone like Angella in her life either. Someone who was motherly in a way that wasn’t laced with ulterior motives.

There’s still a considerable distance between them but Catra says, “I-Angella, I wrote that note like, forever ago.”

And, well, that isn’t much better.

“I see. You’ve been planning on leaving?” Angella asks, fixing her with an unimpressed brow.

“No! No-well, okay, I _was_ , but that was like-right when I-when we got back to Bright Moon,” Catra backpedals, “I wrote it after the whole…library-fire thing.”

When Catra looks up at Angella, she can’t help but feel small. She wants nothing more than for Angella to _believe_ her-it almost feels like all of the times she’d try to prove herself to Shadow Weaver to no avail.

“I actually- _hm_ , you’re not going to believe this,” Catra suddenly remembers the moment in vivid detail, “Remember that night you tricked me into joining the Alliance?”

 _Tricked_ -Catra is definitely pushing her luck with that verb.

“We have different versions of that conversation, but yes,” Angella confirms face softening at the memory.

“I thought everyone finally realized how dangerous I was-I was so freaked out about the fire thing,” Catra laughs bitterly, “I thought I’d better leave before anyone could tell me to go. But then you came to my room right after I finished writing it…I panicked and shoved it in the drawer. And I was just so…sure you were going to kick me out-but then, you didn’t, obviously. But it was before…I wrote it before I knew you.” G _ot close to you. Cared about you._

Catra knows how convenient it sounds-an easy lie to make herself seem like less of a jerk, so she wouldn’t be surprised if Angella disregarded it entirely.

“I suppose that makes sense,” Angella says after a moment, mulling it over.

Stuck in the moment, Catra isn’t sure what to do. “I’m still…sorry. I know you don’t think it’s my fault. But, I am. Sorry. I didn’t believe anyone actually cared…but I know that you did, or do-whatever, and I shouldn’t have left like that. I want to stay. I don’t want to leave. I want Micah to get better and for things to go back to the way they were before all of this happened. If they can’t…that’s okay. I’m just-sorry.”

Catra is tired of apologizing, but it’s worth gritting her teeth through. She’d rather be stuck eating crow for the rest of her life if it meant she got to be surrounded by the people she cared about rather than a prisoner in the Fright Zone.

She swings her legs forward, getting up with a slight hop and wincing when her bones crack. Angella doesn’t respond, so Catra coughs awkwardly and figures it might just take time for her to come around. Which is honestly okay-

“You know, when you came to Bright Moon, I made a very careful decision,” Angella comments, and Catra turns to her in surprise. “I mean, there was the Horde soldier-the mastermind behind the Battle of Bright Moon who was _also_ , somehow, the same person who had saved my husband from himself. Multiple times. Not an easy feat-might I add. And for a fair bit of time, I had trouble believing a person could be capable of both extremes.”

Yeah. Catra has had a hard time reconciling that herself.

“But then I _saw_ you. And when I looked at you, I did not see the Horde’s former second-in-command or the Beast Island savior. I saw a young woman who lost herself in grief and anger,” Angella continues. Catra looks away-to this day she still never knows how to prepare herself for the Queen perceiving her, “I saw a child who grew up far too quickly and…truth be told I saw a bit of myself in you, Catra.”

 _What?_ Catra shoots her an incredulous look, “Oh yeah? In what? the Horde uniform?”

Angella smiles at that and shakes her head, “And I knew…what I needed most wasn’t more anger or hatred. Or punishment-it was love.”

Catra swallows thickly at that, eyes trained on the floor when Angella stands in front of her.

“I would like nothing more than for you to stay with us in Bright Moon, Catra. You are, truly, brilliant and we could certainly use your help in creating a better future-for everyone. ” Angella says, and Catra’s face heats at the praise. “But, if you do stay there has to be some changes.”

“For starters; bed rest is non-negotiable. You’ll be having regular check-ins with healers to make sure your recovery is going smoothly. And to ensure you’re eating and sleeping enough. When you are cleared for Alliance meetings, there will be no more of this ‘overworking yourself because you feel as though it is your act of service to Etheria’ nonsense. And, most importantly, if anything like this _ever_ happens again-I do not care who or what it is, if you’re in danger—come to us,” Angella stipulates. Catra’s breath catches on the _us_ , Angella’s blanket confidence that Micah will be okay brings fresh tears to her eyes. Angella gingerly cups her face, and it reminds her of the day that she returned from the Ivy Runes—except there is a hole where Micah should be. “And we’ll figure it out. _Together_. You are not alone-not anymore. Does that sound fair?”

 _Fair?_ It’s more than fair, as far as Catra’s concerned. She nods in confirmation and Angella smiles at her- dropping her hands and making a move for the door. But still, it doesn’t feel like…enough, somehow.

Catra stops her with an abrupt hug—so sudden and unexpected that it brings out a noise of surprise from Angella. It takes less than half of a second for Angella to return the embrace, arms and wings encircling Catra as she does. Catra is once again reminded of just how _tall_ the Queen is when she rests her head, protectively on Catra’s and pulls her close with a gentle grip.

Catra is definitely not crying, “Seriously. How is everyone here so good at hugs?”

Angella laughs before returning with a joke, “There’s a training we offer as part of a formal introduction to the Alliance. Which, reminds me, you still haven’t had-“

“ _Pass_ ,” Catra declines quickly, shuffling in closer as if she’s able to hide from the possibility. There’s another pause, a respite to revel in the comfort and lightheartedness of the moment, before Catra asks, “You really think he’ll be okay?”

“I know he will be,” Angella tightens her hold just a bit in reassurance, “But let’s go see for ourselves, shall we?”

* * *

“You don’t have to go inside, not if it will upset you,” Glimmer tells her once they’re walking down the hallway. Catra can very much walk on her own, she doesn’t feel _that_ tired or sore, but it’s just nice to feel Adora at her side, supporting her weight as they approach Micah’s room. “He’s just asleep. And he looks fine! But…it’s different.”

“Relax, Sparkles,” Catra rolls her eyes, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“The healers said they think they’ve figured it out and are working on a potion now, so really he’ll be good as new in no time,” Bow reassures with his relentless optimism—even though Catra just said she was fine. She looks up at him, expecting herself to scoff in disdain at the gentle look on her face but instead…she just smiles back. It’s nice to just…accept it.

She thinks they’re all being dramatic-they don’t know the things that her or Adora have seen growing up in the Horde. Besides, she was the one who saw Micah when he was at his most run down and weary on Beast Island.

But even Adora looks at Catra with concern, pressing a gentle squeeze to her shoulders when Angella leads them into the room. When Catra’s eyes fall to him, suddenly she _gets_ it. Her heart lurches when she sees how pale and gaunt his face is-skin with an unhealthy grey sheen. The sight of it surprises her—she’d probably stop right in the doorway if Adora wasn’t guiding her along. She eyes his arm with caution, the purple splotches of poison haven’t migrated from the barrier of orange magic she constructed. But they’re still there, festering, threatening to do more damage.

Angella takes hold of his hand on the other side of the bed while they stick close to Glimmer. Adora and Bow had offered to let them go in by themselves—they’ve all already visited him, but Catra is glad she insisted they stayed. Well-she insisted _Adora_ stay, but she’s grateful there’s another person in the room. Her stomach twists uncomfortably at the sight of him, mind warring with itself; remembering Angella’s words and insistence she doesn’t blame herself. But it’s hard to see him looking lifeless and in pain at the same time, and not find herself just a bit at fault.

Adora’s fingers lace through with hers and she leans down and whispers a warning into Catra’s ear, “Okay-what’s going to happen next is really weird.”

Perplexed, Catra pulls her stare away from Micah and looks at Adora in question.

“Micah,” Angella whispers, “Everyone is here to see you.”

“Uh,” Catra doesn’t want to detract from…whatever this is, but she doesn’t understand, “Isn’t he…sleeping?”

“I don't get it either,” Adora supplies. Must be a Horde thing then. Whenever someone was sick or injured, they were normally left in confinement-believing the best way to heal was without any distractions.

That didn’t really stop Adora or Catra from checking up on each other, risking getting caught. Or-Catra pieces together, the way that Micah and Angella visited her even when she struggling with the migraines.

Bow looks back at them from his spot next to Glimmer, patiently smiling, “Sometimes when someone is…sick, it can be helpful to try to talk to them. Even if they can’t…respond. It can be comforting, he might be conscious enough to just know that we’re here.”

Catra nods, that does make sense. She feels a little guilty, nearly clinging to Adora and stubbornly hanging back by the door. But she doesn’t really want to get any closer and wonders if that makes her _selfish_ -

“It’s okay,” Adora reminds her, sweeping her thumb across the back of her hand in comfort, “You don’t have to say anything.”

She isn’t sure if Angella can hear them, but she looks up and gives Catra an encouraging smile and she can feel herself relax just a bit. Thankfully, when Glimmer steps forward to take Micah’s hand in hers the view of his injured arm is obscured.

Catra studies Glimmer carefully. She isn’t sure…what to do, or how to act right now. But Glimmer and Bow seem to actually get this stuff, having been exposed to it for all of their lives. She evaluates the way Glimmer speaks with a careful eye,  
“Hey, dad. We’ve got Catra here now, too.”

Her face reddens at that, wondering if she should step forward. But she just… _can’t_ and it’s okay, because Adora makes no move to push her along and Glimmer doesn’t cast her an expectant stare. Catra is _there_ with them in the room and that’s all that really matters.

If Catra was expecting anything to happen, this would be the moment for it. For some grand stroke of luck to magically fix everything, now that they’re all here together. But it doesn’t happen. And Glimmer keeps talking, filling Micah in on mundane little details on their day. Catra just listens and chooses to believe he’ll get better soon, and everything will be okay.

* * *

There’s a question plaguing Adora-haunting her thoughts no matter how badly she tries to push it down and remind herself that it’s not a priority right now.

And it wasn’t a priority when they were escaping the Fright Zone. Or when Catra first woke up. Or when they first came back to Bright Moon. It _certainly_ wasn’t a priority when the healers had announced that they were able to extract the poison and begin the healing process—even if it meant Micah would likely be unconscious for a few more days.

It’s not a priority now, either. Really. It _isn’t_. Not when her and Catra are laying next to each other in Adora’s bed—an arrangement Angella allowed only to have reassurance someone would be making sure Catra was resting.

And now _is_ the time for resting. Everyone has paired off and can rest easily, knowing that Catra is back and Micah will be awake soon. Contentment is the emotion that is primarily flowing through Adora now, cuddling closer against Catra. This is what she feared she’d lost forever when she was so certain that Catra hated her, part of her is in disbelief at how that turned out to be so untrue.

So really, she reminds herself just to be thankful that Catra—who is purring just loud enough for Adora to hear and smiling against her skin, clearly doesn’t hate her. Catra is here with her in Bright Moon. She’s alive and, apparently _happy_ , so Adora decides to just be in the moment. To relax into the comfort of the bed, and banish the question of ‘ _Did she hear me tell her I love her’?_ from her mind.

But…she can’t do much about it if _Catra_ is the one who brings it up.

“You were wrong, you know,” Catra says, eyes closed and unmoving from her comfortable position against Adora.

Adora scoffs, running her fingers through the ends of Catra’s ponytail, “About what?”

She can’t tell if Catra was just _hoping_ Adora could read her mind and automatically know what she was talking about, but Catra sighs with great inconvenience and pushes herself up in a sitting position. Steadying herself for whatever she’s about to say.

“The signal,” Catra elaborates, looking a bit nervous. Adora follows suit and sits up—knowing this must be serious if Catra is willing to talk about what happened. Her heart thumps in her chest—wondering, fearing the worst. “I…you said that you couldn’t help me. Or, you know-get through to me or whatever.”

Adora looks at her in waiting, recalling their earlier conversation.

“I…when I was trapped in the signal it was…different from the first time, when it happened on Beast Island,” Catra continues and Adora nods slowly. Catra never brought _that_ up. “At first-I think it was just, I don’t know, trying to get me not to fight it, I guess? It-I saw this whole like… _perfect day_ or whatever. With everyone and it felt so real.”

Adora takes her hand, “We don’t…have to talk about this if you don’t want to, Catra.”

“No, no I think…we need to,” Catra asserts, “I mean, I want to. It’s just…hard.” A loose translation of _be patient_ , which Adora picks up on. “Everything was weirdly perfect and I could’ve…sworn it was real. Except you-you weren’t there.”

Adora frowns at that, a bit taken aback.

Catra notices her offense and rolls her eyes, “It was a good thing. That you weren’t there, I mean. The only reason I could tell things weren’t real is because …you were missing. It couldn’t be…perfect, or whatever, not without you.”

And _oh_. Adora feels her heart clench at that, touched by the admission. She knows her face is red and can feel the flush in her skin. “Catra…”

“And after I realized it wasn’t real everything, shifted, I guess? Everyone was gone, I wasn’t in Bright Moon, I was back in that tunnel by the ruins except it was completely dark and I was by myself,” She explains, looking down at her clenched fists. She pauses, taking a second to breathe, “I thought that was um… _it_ , you know? Like it was too late and I lost everything. And there was no point in trying because everyone was _gone_.”

Except, Adora realizes, she wasn’t even there to begin with.

“That's what the signal does,” Adora recalls. She’d been able to fend it off as She-Ra, was never as affected by it as everyone else. “It forces you to think like that.”

Any shame Catra had in admitting her weakness seems to dissipate with Adora’s words.

“Yeah, but- _but_ then I heard you. Your voice, and I knew I wasn’t alone,” Catra confesses and Adora freezes at that. “And I don’t know if it was _real_ or not. I guess. Either way it doesn’t matter because, y’know I survived, and all. But I guess what I’m trying to say is…I felt lost and I don’t know if I would’ve made it out, if you weren’t there, if I didn’t hear you. I guess it’s like Bow said—just knowing you were there, still there after everything, reminded me I had to fight through it. That I had something to fight for.”

Touched by Catra’s openness, Adora figures it’s now or never. Catra doesn’t particularly like talking about her feelings, but if she’s forcing herself to be vulnerable…the least Adora can do is reciprocate.

“It was real,” Adora says and Catra’s eyes snap to hers. She knows Catra is putting it together now-knows Catra _must’ve_ heard her. But it feels too good to be true. Did Adora _really_ help her through it? Could her telling Catra that she loved her be enough? Was that even a possibility? “I…didn’t know-I didn’t think you heard me.”

“Did you mean it?” Catra asks, eyes wide.

If the situation weren’t so tense, so raw and open, Adora would laugh. Wondering how that could even be a question.

“I did, I _do,_ ” She says instead. Catra doubted Adora even cared about her, per their conversation in Mystacor, so she knows she has to be as clean-cut and clear as possible. “I love you, Catra. And I- it took me a while to realize that what I felt for you was just… _different_ than everyone else. But you’ve always been different to me and I’m sorry-if you don’t feel the same, this doesn’t have to change anything between us-“

It’d hurt like hell, but nothing comes close to the pain of losing Catra. Anything else Adora is sure she can handle-but she’s pulled from her thoughts and her fears when she feels Catra move, swiftly-grabbing Adora by the shoulders until she can get a hold on her face and _kissing_ her.

It’s brief, too quick for Adora to process _properly_ , she’s fairly certain her brain is short circuiting when Catra pulls away-just barely, just enough so that when Adora opens her eyes she can see Catra looking right at her with burning intensity. Like she can see _all_ Adora in her entirety.

“Of course,” Catra says hurriedly, reaching down and kissing her again-chaste and quick, “I love you. Don’t be an idiot.” She punctuates each sentence with a kiss and Adora feels dizzy, her brain still trying to catch up with the fact that this is something that is _happening_.

“Really?” Adora breathes out, wide smile on her face. But only Catra could tell her she loves her and call her an idiot in the very same breath.

“Always have,” Catra confirms, returning the smile and playfully nudging their heads together. “Can’t believe you never noticed.”

Adora _has_ to scoff at that, “Excuse me? You weren’t exactly obvious about it!”

It seems like Catra might be just realizing that now, if the guilty look on her face is any indication. “Well-I, I don’t know. I just assumed you’d never feel the same way.”

“Well I guess we were _both_ wrong about some things,” Adora points out cockily.

“Hm,” Catra ponders it, shifting closer to Adora and bringing her hands up to wrap around the back of her neck, “Guess this is one thing I’m willing to be wrong about.”

This time Adora is the one who kisses _her_ , and it’s not chaste or hurried—it’s languid and steady and she feels the same type of energy she felt in the Fright Zone-that golden glow radiating off of her that normally only ever happens when she’s transforming into She-Ra.

“Um,” Catra pulls back, “Are we going to talk about that?”

The glow dies off then—Adora hasn’t even transformed, but the energy is gone as soon as they break away from each other. “Talk about _what_?”

“You getting all glow-y,” Catra points out, “It happened back in the Fright Zone too.”

Truthfully, Adora doesn’t know what it is. She’s never felt it before. And quite honestly, it’s not something she cares to worry about right now, not when Catra is here and _loves her._

“I think we can figure that out later,” Adora suggests, looking at Catra hopefully. They definitely _should_ figure it out at some point, but She-Ra isn’t something she needs to prioritize right this very second.

Catra blinks at her in surprise, clearly not expecting that response, “I-um-yeah, as long as it doesn’t happen _every time_ you kiss me.”

“Only one way to find out,” Adora isn’t sure where this newfound confidence has come from, but the look on Catra’s face is totally worth it. Especially when Catra returns her kiss eagerly, hold on the back of her neck tightening.

_Yeah. Totally worth it._

* * *

Bedrest is stupid and not something Catra is overly concerned with. Especially when it’s been over a _day_ since the healers worked whatever ridiculous healing magic they had and Micah still isn’t awake. Besides, she’s feeling a lot better lately.

She’s at Mystacor to kindly yell at him and let him know to hurry the hell up, because she’s impatient and tired of worrying and he promised her he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her but if he never wakes up that would absolutely crush her-

 _Okay_. She has to stop and take a breath. She isn’t sure where everyone else has gone, normally there’s always someone here in case he wakes up. But that's fine by Catra. She’s fine with being alone right now. Particularly because she isn’t…super sure of what she’s supposed to be doing and would rather not look like a fool in front of anyone else. Even if that person is her _girlfriend_.

Even thinking the word brings a smile to her face and she wants to roll her eyes at herself, somehow. _Focus_.

But when she opens the door to his room, any anger she has at his overly _long_ healing process quickly fades. He looks better, at least. Purple pricks of poison have faded, leaving behind only an angry pink scar on his upper arm-where she used her magic to burn off any spread. Still-it’s not like him. Not like the Micah that Catra knows. It makes her feel sick.

Truthfully she doesn’t know how Glimmer did it. Or Angella. How they can just walk up to him and act like everything is fine and that it doesn’t _upset_ them to see him like this. She knows they are upset but they’re just able to hide it. Catra is no good at pretending when it comes to things like this—has never been able to mask her emotions when she’s upset.

But…she wants to _try_. There’s an impractical part of her that hopes and wishes if she can force herself to do this thing that feels impossible…maybe it’ll bring some luck. Maybe, by some miracle, he’ll wake up. She knows it’s ridiculous, but as far as she’s concerned, this entire family runs on ridiculous.

 _Hey, dad._ Glimmer had said, the words flashing in the back of Catra’s mind. She wants to say them but it feels embarrassing. She reminds herself she has approximately zero reason to be embarrassed when he’s the one who’s always calling her kid.

Still, she settles for a different greeting.

“Remember when you threatened to sic Swift Wind on me if I didn’t get up?” She asks, only half-expecting an answer. “That first day in Bright Moon, the first day I left my room and we went to the library together? And Glimmer and I fought and you-you didn’t _exactly_ take my side but you didn’t let your daughter walk all over me either and I’m pretty sure that was the first time anyone ever…you know, any adult stuck up for me-anyway, doesn’t matter, point is, if you don’t wake up I’ll get the talking horse in here.”

Catra hates this. Hates only being met with more, cruel silence. She can’t bring herself to look at him and not see him move, either.

“Damn. I was really hoping that’d work,” she sighs, pulling up a chair from the corner of the room and plopping herself down onto it. Wincing as she realizes that the bruises on her body are far from fully healed. “This sucks. You’re better at the whole talking thing then I am. The whole feelings thing too.”

She glares at him, briefly before turning her gaze up to the ceiling, “I mean, what am I supposed to say? I’m not Sparkles. Oh-it’s _Catra_ by the way, who’s here right now, in case you couldn’t tell. Anyway. I’m not Glimmer, I’m not going to tell you boring shit about my day. Even though it hasn’t been that boring. Adora loves me. Like… _loves_ loves me. Still trying to wrap my head around that.”

“Did you know you’re like…the first person to tell me you love me?” She continues, looking back down at him, “Like you just… _said that_. And now you’re…here but you’re not really here. And that sucks. And you suck for that.”

She buries her face in her hands. What is this, the third time she’s told him he sucks? She’s pretty sure that’s _not_ what you’re supposed to do. “Okay. See. This is what happens when people just let me talk! Uninterrupted! If you want me to stop saying you suck then maybe you should just wake up!”

It’s a petty goad. Nothing comes of it. But it was worth a shot.

She sighs, feeling frustration swell within her. It feels useless. Like all the times he tried to teach her magic and she failed at every turn.

“This is so stupid. I don’t know why I thought this would work. I just-I don’t _get_ it. You never gave up on me even when I was such a brat and now I’m telling you I want you here and you’re not—ugh,” She’s not going to cry. She’s not going to cry. She is _not_ going to cry-“I need you. I was wrong, okay? I need you and I need you to be here and _help_ me and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if you’re not around!”

She gets up, angry tears streaming down her face, “I mean, Bright Moon is too stupidly _quiet_ and Glimmer and I have no one to make fun of at breakfast and I don’t even want to go outside with Angella or look at the stupid library because it just reminds me that you’re not here! You’re supposed to be here.”

It’s all he ever wanted, Catra thinks. All he cared about was getting off the island and getting back home, to his family. And now…

“Shadow Weaver isn’t even at Bright Moon anymore. They’re holding her and Hordak at the Kingdom of the Snows until we decide what to do with them. And if that’s not enough reason to wake up and come back, I don’t know what is,” Catra sighs. “Coming here was stupid. I shouldn’t have done this.”

She’s about to leave-she thinks she’s said all that she has to at this point. Exhausted every point she can possibly make. Tried every method she could think of and he’s still not awake. But she doesn’t want to leave. She’ll wait him out if she has to. She sits back down in the chair. Thinks about how Glimmer grabbed his hand and she does the same.

“But uh guess it doesn’t matter because I’m here now. And I’m not leaving until you wake up,” Catra sets her jaw in determination, tightening her hold around his hand, “Everyone keeps telling me not to blame myself. Logically it makes no sense for me _not_ to blame myself, but that’s—whatever. That’s not what I’m worried about. Truth is…I can’t stop thinking about that day I snapped at you, you know, right before Adora and I accidentally like-disappeared for a few hours?”

An _understatement_ , but she’ll let herself get away with it.

“And I told you that you’re not my dad?” She shakes her head, using her other hand to wipe away the tears that fall, “God. I was such a _brat_. I still don’t get how you weren’t mad at me when I came back. _I’m_ mad at myself for that. Because it was such a stupid lie. And I might not ever get to tell you the truth now, the truth that everyone has _been_ trying to tell me. I only said that to you because…it felt like you _were_ my dad. Never had one to really compare to but it sure as shit felt like you were. And I was just stupid and angry because you aren’t _actually_ my dad. You have your own daughter and your own life and I just thought because…I wasn’t born into it, it didn’t count. But that’s a bunch of bullshit, isn’t it? I mean, that's what you said, whether or not I signed those papers I was still welcome in Bright Moon. Whether or not it’s official or by blood, it doesn’t matter. Blood and paperwork don’t make a family. And even if-even if you never wake up you…you’re still my dad.”

Catra has never been great with loss. Whether it was losing to the timer in a training simulation, losing a battle to the Alliance or losing her best friend-she struggled with the concept. She’s battled with the concept of all or nothing—the notion that you either have someone in your life fully or you’ve lost them entirely. But she’s come to realize that isn’t true. There is a middle ground with memories and boundaries and growth, and sometimes that middle ground is better than either extreme. Even if this is it, this is the end, the ominous ‘nothing’-it was better to have him in her life even fleetingly than never at all.

It still hurts, though. She doesn’t let go of his hand when she props her arm against the edge of the bed and buries her face against it. Somehow it’s easier to cry this way.

Then she hears it. A slight uptick in his heartbeat—but she shakes it off. That doesn’t mean anything. She can’t let her hopes get up only for them to be crushed. But then— _then_ the hand in hers squeezes back, ever so gently. It might just be a twitch-it could be nothing at all. Catra thinks it could be her mind playing tricks on her when it happens again.

But when it happens a third time, Catra can’t deny it. She lifts her head up, eyes wide in confusion as she registers the movement again. She squeezes back, watching intently when the movement is reciprocated.

“Hey kid.”

Micah’s voice is gruff and strained-Catra may not have been able to pick up on it if it weren’t for her heightened ability to hear. She snaps her focus to him, tears streaming down her face when she sees him already looking at her-smiling despite the fact he looks exhausted.

“Micah?” A ridiculous question because _who else would it be_ -but she’s in awe.

“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a hell of a grip?” He nods to their hands, where Catra has been _squeezing_ tightly.

“You-you’re awake-I-how much of that did you hear?” She releases her grip, dropping his hand and pulling back to sit up straight.

“Enough to be disappointed that you’re already back to calling me Micah,” He jokes and Catra’s certain _no one_ should be in a joking mood after just waking up from nearly dying.

“If you were _awake_ for all of that and just let me ramble like that I will never forgive you!” Catra threatens, rising to her feet quickly as her face reddens. It’s a lie, both the accusation and the threat. Catra would’ve known if he were awake, Adora is not the only bad actor in Bright Moon, and he’s well aware that she’s not _actually_ mad. “Actually, I already _don’t_ forgive you for almost dying.”

“I’m not sorry for protecting you,” He establishes firmly.

“Yeah, yeah, I figured as much,” Catra rolls her eyes, crossing her arms. “Guess it’s not really your fault anyway. Never should’ve run away or hidden it from you.”

“And I should’ve had Shadow Weaver banished the moment I got back from Beast Island. And should’ve insisted we switch to a more offensive role to take down the Horde,” He counters and she opens her mouth to argue but he continues, “We can play this game all day. But what’s done is done. And all we have is now.”

Catra wants to fight him on that, really she does, but she remembers what Adora said to her the night she left. That it doesn’t matter whose fault it is. “Guess the only thing that matters is where we go from here.”

He looks at her in surprise and she defends herself, “What? I can be _insightful_! I learned from the best, after all.”

He laughs in response, “Yeah, I’d say that's a fair estimation-I saw what you did to the portal.”

Catra smirks proudly at that, “Pft. That? Child’s play.”

It very much was not. None of that was _easy_. But Micah already knows that. He looks down at his arm, at the scars from where she stopped the spread of the poison, “Guess this marks the third time you’ve saved my life, huh?”

“Well if we’re keeping score, I guess that means we’re even now,” She shoots back, “Three sounds like a good place to stop too.”

Micah stretches, wincing as he does so, “You just might be right about that.”

Catra’s ear twitches as she picks up on movement—a set of people scrambling down the hallway outside.

 _“How do you_ lose _your girlfriend? When you literally just got her back!”_ Bow’s voice is shrill.

“ _I didn’t lose her! She left a note this time—”_

And suddenly the door flies open—a winded Adora and Bow in its path. They both look shocked to see Micah awake—the excitement of the moment only growing when Glimmer teleports herself and Angella in.

“See, I told you Bow and Adora must be in here- _Dad_?“ Glimmer’s voice is breathless and shocked. Her and Angella scramble to the side of his bed while Bow offers to do the only sensible thing and alert Castaspella.

It only takes a moment of joyful commotion to spread loose throughout the room, Angella and Glimmer giving their teary greetings as Catra gloats with sarcasm thick in her voice, “ _Someone_ had to wake him up.”

It earns her a proper elbow to the side from Glimmer, but she does it with a watery laugh. Adora is by her side a moment later, head resting on Catra’s shoulder and wrapping her arms around the front of her. Her smile is wide, Catra can feel it when Adora presses a gentle kiss into her shoulder. Bow returns a moment later, healers at his side and an enthusiastic Casta beaming at the progress Micah’s made.

In all of the excitement and celebratory chatter, Catra lets out a deep exhale and _finally_ feels like she can breathe again. She feels a bit more slow-moving than everyone else, only because the relief is hitting her like a tidal wave, but Micah catches her eye and she knows that they’re thinking the same thing:

It’s time to stop keeping score and start a new chapter.

* * *

In a few weeks’ time, the Alliance is wrapping up one of their first post-War meetings. Well, actually the _first_ official post-War meeting as the Fright Zone had been passed through in final sweeps to locate any lingering Horde soldiers. Towns and villages previously occupied by the Horde had been combed through to detain remaining officers. They still needed to sort out the details of what precisely to do with them-determine where the blame falls in the incredibly murky area of _child soldiers_.

It is certainly a challenge to navigate—as is the official punishment for both Shadow Weaver and Hordak. Unlike other former Horde affiliates that have since joined the Rebellion, neither figureheads have ever given any indication of remorse or desire to change. Frosta and Glimmer make rather passionate arguments for violent ends that accompany truly violent and deplorable lives. Micah wouldn’t hesitate to agree, not after _everything_ Shadow Weaver has done especially if it weren’t for the look of discomfort on Catra’s face every time the topic was brought up.

Catra has conflicting feelings towards her abuser, as does Adora. Much to the chagrin of other members of the Alliance who blinked in surprise and questioned why neither of them would want Shadow Weaver to pay for what she did to both of them. But it is much more complicated than that-far more nuanced than the ‘eye for an eye’ mentality. Catra’s certainly shifted far away from a violent need for revenge and hasn’t yet determined how Shadow Weaver’s fate plays into that.

Ultimately, this isn’t a matter that needs to be decided on right away. Not when the guards at the Kingdom of the Snows are _far_ more efficient at their jobs than the Bright Moon guards had been. Catra has identified General Juliet as the only one who knows what she’s doing and now that they can finally let up on bed rest a bit, the guards are undergoing a major training regime overhaul. Courtesy of Catra and perhaps to _everyone’s_ surprise-Scorpia.

Micah had never seen the two of them interact before returning to Bright Moon—only knows of Catra’s guilty relays of how she mistreated Scorpia. But from Micah could glean, it seemed as though Scorpia’s lack of understanding or respect for boundaries hadn’t left Catra entirely in the wrong either. Either way, on a clean slate where the stakes weren’t so intense and the environment was far healthier—Catra and Scorpia made quite a good team. With General Juliet taking leadership outside of training sessions, Catra’s more ruthless and grueling nature was balanced out by Scorpia’s unrelenting optimism and encouragement.

Catra was careful to push when necessary but now just as careful to listen, to hold back and appreciate progress that had been made rather than turning the dial even higher. It seems like Catra has other plans now that the war had officially been declared over as of yesterday. Micah isn’t sure what they entitle exactly, but luckily for him Catra seems rather intent on communicating them today.

At the conclusion of the meeting, everyone has dispersed and gone about with the rest of their days, following through on agenda items or other tasks. Bow, Adora and Glimmer are laughing at something to themselves in the corner of the war room when Catra makes her way over to Angella and Micah, looking a bit uncertain.

“So. War’s over,” Catra says in lieu of a proper greeting. Micah laughs at that—he’s always appreciated her _dive right in_ attitude. She seems nervous, but the tension seeps from her shoulders at his reaction.

“Looks that way,” he confirms as Angella laces her arm through his. He gives her a look-one that asks _do you know what this is about_? But she merely returns a small shake of her head.

“Um,” She coughs and Micah really raises his eyebrows at that. She certainly is nervous and that is rather unlike her, “Remember when—like, _forever_ ago, at the celebration when you guys asked me what I wanted to do after the war ends?”

That was right before they offered to adopt her-right before the Horde attacked and the world went to shit right in front of them. “Of course,” Angella confirms, “Have you decided what you’d like to do?”

His wife’s tone is gentle and inquiring, adding no pressure to the situation. Micah feels a little bit nervous—wondering if Catra’s hesitation is because she’s decided to leave. Leave and go where, he isn’t sure. And it’s rather unlikely that she’d do anything that’d put her at a distance from Adora. He scoffs internally—thinking of how miraculous it is that the two of them are separated enough to have this conversation. But it also makes him happy to see how _happy_ they both are together and figures they are more than allowed to make up for lost time,

“Right um, well. I know that you guys said I could stay here-or whatever,” Catra begins and he feels Angella tense next to him despite her calm demeanor. She’s thinking the same thought as him-that Catra is about to outline some plan of grand departure. “You know-whether or not I signed any paperwork?”

She looks to them, waiting for them to confirm. Micah reminds her, “You’re always welcome here, Catra. No matter what.” _Even if you leave, you’re always welcome to come back._

“Yeah, okay, but the thing is,” Catra moves to grab something from her pocket-a folded piece of paper, “I kind of… _wanted_ to make it official.”

Angella takes the piece of paper when Catra offers it, unfolding it to reveal a _very_ familiar form. The same adoption papers that they had extended to her during the celebration, the very same she rejected and turned back to Micah later that night. The only difference now is that Catra has signed her name, right next to theirs at the bottom.

In shock, Angella looks at the paper, finger gently touching the signature and back up to Micah who asks “I-what? How did you find these?”

Catra turns red at that, “I mean, they were just laying on your desk! Anyone could’ve grabbed them. If you don’t want people in your office you should consider getting locks?” But it wasn’t just anyone who grabbed them and signed them. It was Catra. She not only _wanted_ this and was willing to accept it-she actively sought it out. Even if it did involve a bit of breaking and entering. The silence from their surprise stretches on a bit too long and Catra misinterprets it. Her ears flatten and she awkwardly grabs her elbow, looking to the side, “Look-I just sort of _assumed_ the offer was still on the table. But if it’s not, that’s _fine_ -“

They don’t let her finish the _ludicrous_ thought, sweeping her up into a hug before she can even try.

“Of _course_ it’s still on the table, don’t be ridiculous dear,” Angella chides.

“Exactly-and you already told me I’m your dad, so,” Micah reminds her with a smug smile.

“Ugh, are you ever going to _let that go_?” Catra sighs but the words are half hearted and undercut by the way she hugs them back.

Suddenly, Glimmer is by their side, bouncing in excitement, “Is it true? Did you guys say yes? Am I officially a big sister?”

“Is it ‘saying yes’ if we’re the ones who offered in the first place?” Micah questions as they pull back from the hug to smile at her. Clearly Catra has run this idea past her friends.

“It might be official but for the _last_ time you are younger than me!” Catra asserts in exasperation that doesn’t seem genuine either.

“Oh, it’s official,” Angella confirms—because she _is_ the Queen and Micah has a feeling that she would’ve found a way to make it official regardless. Asking is only ever a formality for her.

Glimmer jumps in then, tackling them and declaring, “Family hug!” ignoring Catra’s protests about reaching her hug quota of the day.

“Funny how you never hit that quota with Adora,” Glimmer shoots at her.

Catra turns bright red, “Funny how _you_ never hit that quota with Bow!”

Micah can’t help but laugh. Hearing their names called, Bow and Adora take it as their cue to join in on the hug.

“Does this mean we get to have another celebration to make Catra an official princess?” Bow gushes, excitement amplifying with each word.

“ _Ugh, no_ -“

“Of course,” Angella interjects, “We wouldn’t want to break tradition, would we?”

Catra grumbles at that while Bow and Glimmer ramble excitedly about the details.

“Can’t be so bad, can it?” Adora asks Catra teasingly, “To have a _whole_ celebration in your honor?”

Catra grabs her hand, lacing their fingers together and says, “Not as long as you’re with me.”

It’s true that time had stopped long ago for Micah on the wilds of Beast Island. Each day bled into the other, wearing down his hope and any ambition to escape exile. Until the day a fated ex-Horde soldier was deposited on the sands of the island and time began again, burning brighter and better than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh :,) can’t believe this is the end! thank you for reading and sticking through the story. this has been such a joy to write and reading through everyones comments has consistently been a straight shot of serotonin to the brain. ultimately this felt like the best place to leave the story off and give it a natural ending, but I do have some ideas for (shorter) fics ranging from fluff-angst that continue this story while pulling from some ~fun~ s5 elements. not sure when I’ll get around to writing those ideas but you can follow me on tumblr for more updates!

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if any of the father-ly interactions were unrealistic. i'm relying solely on my imagination here
> 
> (this fic is def not me trying to fill any sort of void or anything like that)


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